Time Swimmer

Morning waves of air
hiss from my window. Eyes
barely open. Today launches
from its starting gun,
while I dawdle at the line.
Why am I given a pass
for another day, when others
fail to wake? I do nothing
for the privilege: overeat,
drink too much wine,
sit immobile, while others
rush: swim underwater,
crab limbs in slow motion.
Each stroke brings me closer to the edge.
I flip over, do it again.
Eyes filmed with vapor motes.
My powerful legs, toned
from years of gravity.
Each moment is currency.
Both hands extended:
grasping, then releasing.