I.
I arrive back on land.
The depths that held me clean and close
now suckle at my feet,
licking any residual weariness from me.

II.
The ocean—
my Mother.
The sea, Her womb.
I come and go as needed;
She is always my home.

III.
I wear the ornaments laid out for me.
Transformation’s gifts adorn my body,
gills give way to skin and warmth,
foam and salt kiss my spirit,
rejuvenated.

IV.
I huck the mussels that once coated me like armor.
Their lips razor-sharp, quick entry points
I no longer feed their piercing.
A cloak of seaweed—
slippery golds and pink—
silkens me from throat to ankle
in the sky-mirror, my blue shows.

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