I've drafted this five times now...

Skinny Dipping will be the Death of You

You test the water
to see if the chill is enough
to give you a fever.

You check the waves
for dangerous fins.
The crystal blue water

is clear around our boat.
You slip off your clothes
and step off the deck.

From the shore I see you
displacing the water.
I’m not used to your body yet.

I’m not used to the way
your hair sticks
to your back and neck

after it has been drenched.
I’m not used to the way
water swirls around you

when nothing separates
the ocean from you.
Your body perplexes me

in the sunlight.
I row back to the boat
with my back to the boat.

You float on your back
oblivious to the tangle of
gear beneath the waves.

This old anchorage
holds a dozen anchors and their tackle.
The ropes make a Jacob’s ladder

to entangle you in the coils.
You allow yourself
to dip into the quiet blue.

The ropes snag your leg
and tie you down,
pulling you with the current.

The anchor-weight drags
you below the surface
and threatens to keep you.

You try to fathom the implications
of dying underwater.
I row in a passive manner.

I stow my clothes below deck
intending to join you.
Your outstretched hands

extend just above the water line.
Through the water,
I see the panic on your face.

I grab a skinning knife,
intent to loose the fouled rope.
I jump into the water.

to pull you from the water,
to buoy you,
to save you from the waves.