It occurred to me you were
      a living confirmation: every effort has its effects.

      Even the ripples made by your gainly strides
had afterlives

in this realm of
      brake and shallows; had stirrings beyond the work.

      After lowering to the surface, with its overlap of above-
ground orange, gold, a simplex

of sky and overhang, you
      let your neck

      do all the work—let it
carry you through and through. From this, I wanted

a lesson: Above orange, gold; gold and orange
      below. All that is left

      for me to do is follow
through. I wanted to be able to write: there is an axis that comes—;

and below that, a lower line. But everything added
      is light. Wait, might

      be the lesson;
to have a break-through, breathe

shallowly—then it will come to you:
      the part of the work you cannot control:

      the lengths you thought you had gone to, and yet,
coming up again with nothing struggling, catching the light.



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