I didn’t really want
to walk into the ocean.
Though the breeze was warm.
Though the water was clear.
Being dry felt, well, so dry.
And I liked it, feeling dry.
“You can’t be baptized
if you don’t get in the water,”
said Rumi, and he rushed
past me from behind, leaping,
launching himself into the waves.
Then he turned toward shore to splash me.