In the birthing hour after the swim

In the birthing hour after the swim
we float alert and ready to live
Wheat Crunchy hungry and in pursuit
of machine cup soup.
Ears keep water that shakes
cannot dislodge and wind
cuts scalps in the twilight
between pool and car.

Uncle Jack drives us home
in his tinny Citroen dolly and
we learn with every strained
gear-shift over hillocks of Holderness
that all we need
is the water’s skin
that holds us tight.

– Chris Wilson