Filtered Light

The child’s hand, quick.

Cold shock.

Then the quiet green,

looking up.

The lane lines, a blurry grid,

like bad stained glass.

Above, the pink blur of feet,

kicking. So many.

A rubber band, bright coral,

drifting down, slow,

like a tiny, failed star.

I didn’t fight it.

Just watched the distortions.

The sun through all that chlorine,

breaking into sharp, meaningless jewels.

What did I think I’d see?

Not even my own breath

rising, just a sheet

of watery, indifferent sky.