Cleaned the empty pool before sunrise

Somebody has to skim the leaves and check the chlorine even when no one's swimming, and I've decided that's me. There's a rhythm to it — pole, net, basket, repeat — that's steadier than most prayers I've tried. The echo off the tiles when I drop the skimmer is cleaner than any bell. Nobody saw it, but the water's flat as glass now, waiting for the one who swims ninety minutes straight and never says a word to me.