When I swim...I swim..
To swim....
and carried away...
against life's currants...
faiths..personal snare...
Clear waters inter-coastal..
waterway...
around the bend from...
hurricane alleys..
wide mouthed.. gulf...
Tide comming in or out..
over a mile across...
only as a youth...would I try..
with out those fins on my..
feet that shore...no more...
low tide...I'm out an eighth..
high it's the same...
I would try more..But crazy..
being...would only bring..
another increase...
too this mess...
When I swim...I swim..
To swim...
against life's currants...
one person their snare...
I must not be..that good to eat...
though I keep moving my feet...
and yesterdays fish was quite large..
I never saw...
but it wanted...still be felt...alive.....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem