Something breaches
the water, curls out
of that world of silt
and scales, and slinks back
just as fast into the mud
with guppies in its mouth
but also moss on its lips
and a belly of scum,
clearing a bit of the surface
for sunlight, oxygen,
small frogs, mallard feet.
Something prehistoric
and alien, skin the color
of death, slick and immense
and dorsal-finned
like a children’s story,
but indifferent to the air,
merely a current of flesh,
a breeze of persistence,
a balanced beast
that breathes its own water,
a kind of god you can see.