Eel

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.