I rescued this poem from This is not a novel by Jennifer Johnston (p33) and If on a winter’s night a traveller by Italo Calvino (p148).
Remember code
perfect pushed-pulled champions of the sea
scorching first;
rinsed towel
squeezed uneasiness
gentle ghost
brushed
wiped down dismay
dry half-felt wet
under well eyes
somehow the naturalness of tears drown
rippling recognised
faceless but familiar
watching silent shadow lingered
indifferent to the moment