There was a pond once

in childhood.

A weathered pool

turned wild.

Lily pads crowned the rim.

Cicadas chorused from dry grass.

Water indistinguishable

from song.

Lounging now at Prinzenbad,

overchlorinated and Gatorade blue,

I feel for a moment that Berlin

even loves me back.

Why don’t I ever see this city

for what it is?

Somewhere

to make a home.

A lone diver windmilling

down into the depths.

Gathering all of her breath.

Everything she has.

When I’m swimming,

I’m swimming

in all the bodies of water

I’ve ever known.

The blue above me.

The blue below.