The Pool

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My embarrassment at his nakedness, 
at the pool’s edge,
and my wife, with his,
standing, watching—

this was a freedom 
not given me who am 
more naked,
less contained

by my own white flesh
and the ability 
to take quietly 
what comes to me.

The sense of myself 
separate, grew
a white mirror
in the quiet water

he breaks with his hands 
and feet, kicking,
pulls up to land
on the edge by the feet

of these women 
who must know 
that for each
man is a speech

describes him, makes
the day grow white
and sure, a quietness of water 
in the mind,

lets hang, descriptive 
as a risk, something
for which he cannot find 
a means or time.

© Robert Creeley