POEM The Pool BY ROBERT CREELEYMy embarrassment at his nakedness, at the pool’s edge,and my wife, with his,standing, watching—
this was a freedom not given me who am more naked,less contained
by my own white fleshand the ability to take quietly what comes to me.
The sense of myself separate, grewa white mirrorin the quiet water
he breaks with his hands and feet, kicking,pulls up to landon the edge by the feet
of these women who must know that for eachman is a speech
describes him, makesthe day grow whiteand sure, a quietness of water in the mind,
lets hang, descriptive as a risk, somethingfor which he cannot find a means or time.