To wild swim

To wild swim
  
-  
We ate the sky,  
eyes soaking Sun,  
seeping through sheer, grey cloud  
and in her barely clothed side-step,  
we took our rise in stride,  
over hump and into vista  
one and twenty miles wide  
or not  
but could have been  
an empty expanse of gorse  
stretched on either side.  
   
-  
   
flexed my fingers.    
The river crumpled,    
rumbled inconsistent groans,  
sheet and aimless rainfall  
a bloat upon it's frame.    
The influx kicking  
at stone ribbed banks.  
And I stopped.    
"It is perfect, Katie."  
Oceans of us  
still within a painting,  
a moment, the notion,  
this speck upon time.  
   
-  
   
We continued on,  
Warren house barren of ponies,    
males not grazing on green.  
Sheep contentedly fed,    
Winter winds beaten by coats.    
She was braver than I,    
boots and socks fell from toes.    
- laid out a mat,  
folded clothes,    
all in a pile at her feet.    
Into Ditsworthy Pool  
our frames descended -    
the idea worrisome, bleak  
but that view, that sound,    
some well practiced wisdom  
got us beyond any internal cries  
from the likely below seven degrees.    
   
 -  
   
I heard my heart as if she spoke to me then.    
"Let's not," breath unsteady.    
"It's frozen, why do this?"  
We splash necks,  
wrists, chests,  
step deeper,  
further,    
until river sand wrapped around soles.    
Brain led endurance,    
fingers  
burning,    
body  
steadying,    
moves  
repetitive  
and then  
in all that restlessness  
colliding with equal restfulness,  
peace came skipping by,  
accepting all as is,  
settling behind the eyes.