So I’m working on a poem, a rhyming poem (!), testing the theory that restraints fuel creativity.
Here lies the fruit of two hours’ labor. Eight lines.
At eight I swam my river’s breadth
to pass a test, to cross not swept
away by the frigid, chugging flow
of invisible river under toe.
My stroke steady, my arms strong,
I fought the force until ere long
My toes touched sand and proud I dared
Seize with hands and mouth the air.