Blue is most deafening between water
and sky, the indefinable threatening

to define what already exists. He
steadies himself—breath swallowed

like water as sight becomes too clear
for eyes to stay open. What we see

is a flash of gold, an orchestra of muscles
zipping through air, through routine

so well-worn—even silence
is renewed. His body readies for

the final somersault, feet to sky
in defiance of heaven, while we watch

water brim like youth personified,
promising to fill what hollows bone

and flesh, whispering something less
of a dream and more of a man.