New moon like the smile of the
Cheshire cat and deep yellow
on a slight angle as we're
just barely north of the equator
in the centre bobbing
remembering baths in the north
parts of my body under the water
and parts out
thinking about the line
where the water ends and air
begins, moving gently
a delicate line
a loose strand of beads imprecise
easily lifted and shifted
and uncommittedly resting
on the cusp of a girl's hip
like the equator
tracing the swell of the earth
my body, a buoy
the water line has dropped
from a hard unmoving top
to an unfixed, flexible
middle (tropic means turning)
accentuated with beads
to remind me of ease
and equipoise
and that half of me is now
above the surface
that I am no longer afraid of my own face
and I am no longer afraid of the sun
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