Marsh Island under a clear sky, 
the power boats come in close

to shore, your dog, afraid
of the bridge grating, jumped

into the water, and you
weren’t quite sure how

to get her back.  Real fear
is nothing to laugh at,

but instinct– you asked
why I was smiling, 

it’s because I know too well
this urge to bail, to go over

the side and swim for shore
while bystanders point 

and shout unhelpful advice.