Tentatively, she steps,
Dark blue jeans made darker
by cold, chorine(d) water.
(What are the consequences?
No matter, for
Nothing matters now.)
She leaps, and like a fledgling
from its mother’s warm breast,
falls,
her loose white blouse billowing, suddenly,
like a cloud of forgotten dreams,
Or a parachute half-opened.
Perfection Is Flawed
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/into-the-pool-fully-clothed/
