DEIRDRE DWYER

Swim

Towel in hand,
I take the path
overgrown with tall tansy,
soft stalks of mallow,
Queen’s Anne’s fine Lace,

and step down onto
a pebbled beach
strewn with sunburnt seaweed
dry to paper
and green slush.

It’s so warm: I wade
up to my knees,
splash my thighs and arms
introductions to my fluid
new friend.
We are going to be intimate.