Swimming at Sportsplex: February Mental Sky
“What’s water but the generated soul?”
William Butler Yeats
The soul was taken
by surprise, plunging
into that glassed-
in pool in February,
dysthymic, hyperthymic,
sex-crazed, hypomanic,
money-throwing,
neurasthenic
soul
rattling in its
cage, in its
blankets and heaters
and down
quilts, wrapped in
layers of flannel
and wool, wearing socks,
a fleece hat.
It plunged into
the pool
under the cold dripping
roof, the mauve
sky walling it in,
making it echo,
hit its edge
against the air’s
steel wool, mohair.
Like the last stage,
batting around
in this daytime
