Ernest Hilbert

Swimming South Off Key West

I wade into the warmth along the jetty.
Sharp copper tracings of a sunset wave
Ride in, carrying light on its liquid peak.

The wind is up. I dive. I rise to find
A broad-winged pelican, a terrifying
Sight at first, so close I could touch it.

The bird holds still above me in the wind,
White feathers rippled in hovering flight.
It breaks and glides to hunt in deeper blue.

I too move out and join a larger current.
I’m turned around. The aquamarine glow
Of afternoon light moves below the stream.

I find I’m out much farther than I thought.
I work across the bight for old stone stairs
Gargling and frothing with the sluicing sea.

I get across to them and try to gain
A foothold on the slippery dark stone,
But waves propel me to the highest step

Then draw me back down as I hope to seize
The sea-grass-draped iron ring, and get my grip,
To mount the steps before the following wave

Removes control of my body from me
In the infinitely slipping million years
Of salt that drag me back again from land.