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.

And air swifts like screaming birds.
The fast approach of water,
black water and moonlit foam.

At last cutting through the bay

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