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.