Winter Swim

An Imagist Poem

crisp morning air —

gold light spills on water;

four figures wade in

ocean cold bites skin,

stroke rhythm sharpens —

yellow buoy ahead

reaching plastic —

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we arc away

toward a silent bay

numb mouths,

words thick as salt —

we float, breathing sun

distant cliffs ignite

in the days first fire

we return —

cleansed,

quietly strong