Oh wetsuit, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways...

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul (and arms) can reach (in the cold, choppy, whitecap-laden waters), when feeling out of sight (of the last buoy, or the swim finish, or of any other swimmers...)
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace (or ungraceful swim exit...).

I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light (or by the klieg lights set up around transition).
I love thee freely, as men (and women, and swift sea turtles) strive for right (or left, or over, or under as they're passing me in the water);
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise (good job, HTFU),
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith (that I CAN actually finish this swim without dogpaddling).
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints -I love thee with the breath (or lack of when I'm hypoxic chasing those feet in front of me),
Smiles, tears, of all my life! -and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death (as long as death doesn't occur in the freakin' water).