Buoyancy

Koi in the Japanese gardens; children with bright
       rubber floats in the pool at the Y,  older men
and women walking from one shallow end
      to the other for exercise—I never learned 
to swim, growing up in the mountains where 
      there were pools only in country clubs and hotels. 
How buoyant all these bodies are, how effortlessly 
      the waters part at their approach, enveloping all 
in damp clouds smelling cleanly of chlorine and tile. 
      I've always dreamed of giving myself up to such
buoyancy, that ribbon-pull somewhere out of your side 
     or from your feet mostly planted on a solid surface: 
and then you're lofted on the skin of water, face turned
     up as if expecting to be touched only by softness.