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.