Swimmer

I face the wind;
Currents of time
That score my brow
With textured text;

Memories that run
Downstream toward falls
That plunge headlong
Into inkwells of darkness.

But with nib of sustenance,
And thoughts once fought,
I break the surface
Of blackness to light.

Where each stroke I take
Reduces life’s liquid
To a mist, as it changes
From text to thought.

And with my arms quiet,
Devoid of the motion
That once pushed at rivers,
I bathe in the now still wind.