Water

 

Twirling a thousand miles per hour, I don’t notice.

This dry outpost is almost seventy percent water, I don’t notice.

 

Submersing in womblike wet warmth

melts my mind

into primal time

when I swam like a fish

before I squirmed

through a canal to gasp

cough and sputter in air.

 

Oceans surround me with most of our water

which I can’t drink.

Icecaps and glaciers have most of the fresh water

which I can’t get to.

 

But who needs fact and figures?

What’s to be gained from figuring things out?

 

Sink or swim is what it’s all about.

Am I learning to take it to the next level?

Who’s to say this isn’t transition?

I swam before I breathed.

 

Could this life be the womb

that is preparing me to fly?