I swim with others.
Some are dolphins, some are sharks.
Which is which depends on the temperature of the water
or the weather. Something: it’s not clear.
From whale song to hammerhead thrash,
they change their tune at the drop of a mask
over the side, pulled deep by invisible cable
to pressurised obscurity.
Before I know it the warm, blue shallows shelve
into coldness. Gloom wraps me in panic.
I pray. My prayer says:
“Even turtles nip if they think you’re edible.”
Overwhelming, but it’s either that
or swim alone.
by Robin Knight
from Rattle #71, Spring 2021; Tribute