How truth floats to the surface
like air bubbles from skin in water,
reflecting tiny rainbows
perfect in contour and tension:
her father teaching her to swim
in salty calm on an English summer’s day
seagulls drifting overhead like dreams
she, face up in the water, eager
he, knee-deep, bent over her
hand placed carefully in the small of her back
tells her to relax, head back, tummy up, fish-shape
gently begins to withdraw his hand
tells her that he will set her free
watches the closed panic of her eyes
urges her to trust to truth;
air inside her will float her
like a cork, like a polystyrene swim-aid.
She goes down wriggling -
he catches her, helps her to her feet
she spluttering, he drowning a smile
patiently to begin again, urges her to lie back
and this time, his hand imperceptibly removed
limbs, head, ears softly couched by the sea
feels as though she’s inside a bubble
watches his lips, his smiles, distant
his muffled words of praise