I settle deeper in the chair as if in sediment,
becoming river, lake, water. In her cerulean
scrubs, scrubbing consciousness, she anchors me.
As I liquify, her voice follows me, languid.
It drifts below the water line, my words bubble
upward to bursting, sounds surfacing.
Beneath the surface, her face hovers above me
, and I attempt to relay this important detail:
I am water, I am all water. I have melted; I am adrift.
I float for days, for centuries, eons even.
Disintegrated, disinterested in everything but
being in this space: suspended, extended.
She is a siren, a mermaid, ushering me
from my unmoored state. I resist returning, preferring
liquid lightness and time spent in womb-like water waiting.