A
Poem in the
Young Grove City Collection
First Dive
At the teeth of the cliff
with arms outstretched
naked to the waist,
the pitch sky turns to a gentle violet.
The sun a shimmering slice over the ridge:
a blanket bright, warm, soft.
Plunge.
And air swifts like screaming birds.
The fast approach of water,
black water and moonlit foam.
At last cutting through the bay