Christ rises above me arms outstretched almost as if he is flying fast into his birth sure of nothing other than the horizon that rises below him he has not moved for almost seven years seven years I’ve seen him weathered by the sun and strong winds and rain pray for rain to wash him off to bring him change when I’m not looking maybe after seven years he turns his head and watches me swim all the way down to Pineapple Beach over the rocks around the fancy hotels inside the inlets and peninsulas in fingers that stretch out from shore watches me swim around the bend facing now West when I look around on my back he’s changed into the man that once stood over the cliff are you surprised that he never lets you catch him that you never will because here he really never did exist he’s an idea set in stone to watch over a world some have created in his alter image willfully undeniably maybe defiantly is something else that may be tattered by wind by the sun by memory nevertheless when I see him while floating on my back like a turtle like a dead fish within the analysis of place rather still in replication in his arms unfolded wide I do the same as when I was a boy my mother watching me from shore assured I would not leave but afraid I would swim too far out of her reach never to come back into the same world again.