I awoke on the shore

With the fish crawling out

On their brand new arms and legs.

 

They gawked at me and

Stopped to see me cry.

 

Then continued.

 

They soon discovered concrete,

And I sat in the sands,

The sins of their origin

Story, as they erected

Their monuments to the clouds.

 

When one came to me,

Cracked open a book.

And read me his story,

Born from his knowledge of drowning,

Of breathing water for so long,

 

He felt like he’d lost his past.

 

Beginning at the start, I listened

As the sand went out to sea,

He wept ink onto pages as my

Stolen stone visage feigned

Observation.

 

I’m sorry you feel lost,

But I cannot move.

 

____

 

Something about eating algae,

And being an egg surrounded by brothers and sisters

Unthinking.

 

He told me of his changing pains

And the torturously slow growth of

Arms.

 

Astounded at their length

Fins with phalanges,

Carpals on carps,

Can you imagine?

 

I said I could,

I’d seen it all,

But my language passed

Down onto the beach

Like spoiled manna

The next day.

 

He said I looked quite sad,

Sitting, weathered by the sands

Of time and of the sea,

 

And slunk off to the water

Without his gills.