Early spring, first warm sun, you look at the sea
with a mixed itch of dread and desire,
you know it’s still very cold.
You wait, fidget with a shell, a pebble
and scan the lulling glare of the horizon.
Then step in and walk on
slowly, teeth chattering, heart hammering, water
at your ankles, calves, thighs, almost up to your breast,
your arms still raised in the air –go, you tell yourself,
go, each instant is a leap
and no way to know for sure you will resist,
go, it’s what the bottomless now of your breath
Davide Trame, Venice, Italy