It’s always easier at night,
with a moon so nearly full you
cannot tell whether it’s about
to wax or wane. The moonshine skips
across the water on the tips
of ripples my legs make; I wait
to wade out deeper, for each ring
to slide back into the inky
depths. It’s better to completely
undress, discard those above-ground
clothes as superfluous. This black
liquid will be my second skin.
The farther out I go the less
luminous my limbs become. Yes!
I could be dissolving like the
pillar of salt from the Bible.
Still, I don’t look back. My thoughts link
with my tentative feet that sink
into the mud with each step,
until I am over my head,
waiting for gills or something much
larger to become than myself.
