I slide through each undulate shift
from stage to stage, larval to glass to elver
and yellow then silver, every age
its own muscled procession
towards the beginning again.
As an eel, I slip through tides
from where I was born
in the warm womb of the Sargasso Sea,
so you see, I did not come from the mud,
nor the mud from me.
I have always felt landless,
but bordered by a vortex
of opposed currents,
I have always felt the ghosts
of my past in my present:
I am often lost with them
in the sweeps of deep seaweed.
And there are final acts hidden
in these dark grasses
beneath the blue of the wave
my serpent's tail created, to be the water
or for the water to be me.
Image from pixabay.