laps

Is my mind growing duller in all of this heat?
Am I losing my edge, slipping off of the seat?
Are my eyes missing focus, my voice dropping a note?
What if all I can do in this water is float?
The duck seems quite happy to take all his naps.
The goose doesn't care about swimming his laps.
The heron just hovers, the wren's not clairvoyant -
the birds in this lake are quite fine being bouyant.
So why is it me who is beating her chest,
who can't stand the silence of water at rest?
What is it that matters when lungs are so brimming?
Will things make more sense if I speed up my swimming?
'Cause the sun's bearing down and I'm working so hard
to keep pace with the world - every foot, every yard.
My arms are so tired; my legs aren't that strong,
and now that I see it, this lake's far too long.
If I swim it all now, my whole heart will be seething,
But my lungs will both flail and I'll likely stop breathing.
If I speeded things up, I will get there much faster,
But once at the end, I'll be courting disaster.
So I'm better off swimming in far smaller movements,
traverse this whole length just by catching some currents,
relinquish control, offer water my laughter,
embrace all its stillness and forget what I'm after.