Until the rain comes, I will lie here, the water
deep, my hair fanned out like a mermaid or
a floater in the Hudson, my skin mottled
like a sculpin, knobby like a starfish or the bottom
of a stony river. I will rise long enough to breathe.
I will submerge again, a boulder in a rising
tide. I will lie here watching the ceiling ruffle,
letting the water cool. It is quiet here. When
my skin begins to rise, I will drain, make room
enough to add more heat. I will breathe mist
into the cold, my hair streaming, while I wait. There
are some things I cannot control. Until the rain
comes, I will hold my breath and sink. I will wait.