Night Swimmers

Sunk in black sleep, I find you, my dead friend.
You urge me to use warm colors: gold, red.
Lucky, I say, you checked out when you did,
before wild horses burned and houses slid.
Don’t think I don’t miss you, I add. Who else
enjoys my epithets for rude swimmers?
The Tsunami, The Slapper: those strangers
invading our lane, their limbs blunt weapons.
You used your street smarts at the pool, never
engaged with The Talker or The Stalker.
I thought you’d cajole cancer the same way
you convinced lifeguards to let us swim late.
You backstroke into my dreams, do your smooth crawl:
that’s how you let me hold you, radiant girl.

(Published in Alaska Quarterly Review)