Laguz, Kona Kai, and I

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~ By Courtesy of Others ~

Laguz. No feeling, just flow.
Aqua. Blue, blue-green, and green
moving in every conceivable fashion.
Fusion even, and covering all that moves lives or breathes.
Seize it. Yeah, you can do it, come on hold it, and then
up and through, breaking the surface only to inhale.
Inside, to inhale on the other side, where you live, covered.
Come down, twelve feet down.
Below, feeling the just and truly correct way
matter should move, ebb, and then again flow.
Below for only a little while beneath the sky, sun, air,
and all that was left when you went under and down.
Bound, Grip it. Kick, kick, kick, just hold onto the
lane divider if you can't keep going, in front of the crowd,
the cheering, the gun, and all you hear before a race.
Red eyes sting, hands and fingers waterlogged and shriveled
as you look down at them. Osmosis.
Lungs burn from water, smog, and the days workout.
My kids will be able to swim like fish when they grow up.
And tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow again.
Laguz.

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