Metaphor

The river...

how did I not know,

not know... 

not to fight against it,

the current,

the density of me,

the weight,

the lack of control,

born in the kid days,

of summer...

not wanting 

to know how

to float, 

to flow, 

to go with the ride... 

instead of direct it,

to breathe...

instead of gasp,

to inflate...

instead of deflate,

to float... 

instead of fight.

To find this peace,

in the hushed rush 

of mute water,

the quieting

that released me,

let me be...

ten again,

with this

step off the edge,

off the edge, 

of control...

to discover

the only way to fly

is called 

swimming.