Buoyant Blue

It holds me just so
in its strong gentle arms,
lending support without presumption;
I may sink through should I wish to,
it won't argue.

Though it might put up a little resistance
in case I should change my mind
and it would be too late otherwise.

I hit out, slap and kick,
ungrateful; graceless.
It takes that too, never hitting back.

It makes perfect, silver-centred bubbles with my shabby snorts.

It judges not.

Its cool clear ripples take care not to wash away
the deep blue line, preserving its straight, steady contrast.

It tolerates its chlorine, uncomplaining.

It does not sting with red eyes of resentment,
though it would have every right to.

It is ever calm to my constant thrashing.

Ever buoyant blue.