Swimming In New Orleans

I watch you swim toward me,

your body moves like zydeco

above and below the water line.

The red bricks of the Church of

the Immaculate Conception,

gatherer of Cajun souls, float

over your shoulder in the haze.

Jazz from the French Quarter

still dances across the afternoon.

Seeing your steady strokes

I dream of the gator, floating

close by in the bayou. For the two

of us there is no tomorrow

or yesterday. Only this moment,

this splendid moment, as glory

swims ever closer to the sun.