Scintillations

What will I become? What will become of me? What will I will for myself, and will my will be done, in these waters, whatever may happen on the earth or even in the heavens?

Will I fly across the glass, leaving them in my wake?
Will I struggle in the waves of others?
Will my own struggle be enough, or will I have to beat the others and finally, when there is no one left, have myself to deal with? Which will it be for me? Which one of these? Will I be alone at the end of it all, or will others celebrate with me, or keep me in my own company? Will they cheer for me when I win, and even when I do not. And when it is all done, will they remember me, and remember what I did in those strong, tranquil days?

Let me assure you all, even though I am but a child, I will swim hard, harder than I think I can. I will swim in the morning, and even when I am not fresh. I will swim every day and into the evening. I will swim even though my hair dries and becomes brittle and white, and my skin has that sperm-like chlorinated smell. But don't complain if you look at me and I have serene, blink free gaze. I am merely calm and dazzled by the sun, my arms tired from wakes and wavemaking.

I will let it all radiate from me, and into me. And I will ask myself merely for all of my strength, all of my breath, to stretch myself as far as I can across the scintillating glass.

And my coach will say, at the end iof the day. "Okay, get out. Get dry. Nice job."
And then we will do it again, until all that is terrestrial has been drowned, and the fish finds it feet and webs in the water. But I need to know, in all this work, in all this water, what will I become?