when we get there, i will tell you.
when we get there, i will let you know
i see you splashing and
spitting and
holding on,
wet and
victorious with every breath,
treading water and
waiting for the sun to come.

saline and salt water fold together,
threatening,
reminding you how easy it would be
to drown

one breath, then another
and your head screams
sink
but your heart begs
swim,
and in an instant, your limbs are in motion
the strokes long and
broad and
beautiful.

when we get there, i will tell you
safe and dry, surrounded and
simple and
quiet and
home.