If you swim before the children waketake me along. Though it is you, Folly Beachlifer, and me, laboring behind apple-pickerstrokes on my side, lagging, rolling to rest, searching the white bottoms of your feetuntil they drip from the neighbor's dockon the far side of this body, our two fingers pressed into one another's throats, breathing the names of seconds. Counting to a minutewith our softest parts exposed while morning launches the osprey, stirs dragon flies, soonbreaches firs to draw mist from black waterlike tea, inching to cool. I feel: blood thrumand shudder breaths beneath muscled ba