I envy the leapers off docks and floats,
those squealers and whoopers
screaming, “Look at me! Look!!”
as they jump from the high silver rafts on the lake,
who abandon the sun warmed air
to plunge down there,
into the tannin browned,
dimly lit depths, where who knows what demons lurk,
whose scaled claws might snatch from the muck,
to drag them down, down, a life out of luck,
who, for three brilliant seconds of soaring and glee
risk all of whatever they ever might be.

I sit on the beach,
safe from the reach
of the haints in the deep.

But green in my gut grows jealousy within.
Perhaps it is time that I learn to swim.