The water is to swimmer as a kiss
Placed on a closed but moving eye.
And swimmer is to water
As a ghost to a claiming room.
The swimmer – suspended, flickering –
Parts the soft walls in the thickened realm
Of an element not entirely owned;
A bladder of heavy air,
Embodied; and yet boneless.
Katherine Pierpoint, Truffle Beds (London: Faber and Faber, 1995), 47.