is tightening his calves,
preparing the spring of a mousetrap
that, sprung, will rebound,
through his quads, potential
that powers him skywards
through swimming pool echoes.
At the apex, the abdominals
flex, mid twist, to lift
legs into a pike that carves
somersault, somersault, somersault
from a second of air.
At this speed he should bomb
on the surface, but snaps
a near-miracle from his momentum
to break water flat, straight
and firm. His fingers and hands
and arms and head and pectorals,
his buttocks and legs and feet,
his toes slip through a rip entry,
a gasp, the splash of a pebble
that ripples a moment and goes.
Below, his body is caught
and softened, returned to applause.
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