Ever since early consciousness it had been
the urge to swim like a fish, as a fish, in deep
water, deeper than a bath tub, with finned 
and scaled sleekness cutting through water
seamlessly without resistance, breath coming
without effort, the magic of gills exchanging
oxygen at depth and without exertion. There
was a sense of a return to an existence, as in
immersion in the womb, of protection and being
held in suspension, as in flying, at one with the
elements and an ease of movement with some
quality of magic, but this would not be wings
lifted by draughts and heat cones, taking off
and landing, this would be ceaseless motion,
energy forces on demand, perpetual motion

in a swirling current of forever. It never reached

the level of choice of colour and size and shape,

tropical, or cold waters, gulf stream, bowl
shark or minnow, or captive goldfish, it was just
a concept of a different freedom, without the
burden of food chain, pecking order, for birds and
terrestrials, more the sense of the other, a
sense of return to a familiar world connected
to the first world of consciousness, reaching to
forbears who had left a world of fluidity for one
of adventure, a surprise yearning for what they
lost when they left the certainty of submarining,

security of swimming in ignorance of

wide open jaws cruising the dark waters behind.