Pells Pool By Night, 1980s

For Clair May.

She would climb the wall,
under lost summer-light:
A crisp swallow-dive,
the thrill-chill of night:

Leftover, chalked-up,
mean temperature,
meant nothing to her,
dusk-dip, cold, venturer.

Surfacing, ripple-waking,
false mirror’s stretch;
she gripped, bump-naked,
the pool’s hard edge:

A rough-laid return,
like a lover’s slap,
then conscious of time,
breast-stroke elapsed:

Lifted, from the water,
wet moon on her skin,
she wore Pells Pool,
back home, again.