after the marsh

Sinking words into the mud, watching my skin disappear, I become a puddle, let the silver dancing fish run freely through me, not as if I don't exist but that I exist more than I ever have before. Grasses reach up through my hands, not bothering to turn away because the sun streams between the cracks that dirt an bay wear deeper, crevices of time on my palms, a quiet secret that those passing by will meander right over, not knowing that if they had smaller steps they would sink into the Earth, scrape ancient trees and long-dissolved animals with the bottoms of their feet. I see the surprise absent from their faces, taste the wind and let it take my thoughts in return, let the marsh air kiss my eyelids closed and ask it all to soak in.