Transformation

By Celia Coulter

I make the change slowly,
water lapping my skin
like a soft tongue.

Slipping gently into the inky blackness,
ripples flow outward,
silk ruffling in the breeze.

Soft, delicate scales fan my skin, spreading slowly,
opaque and silvery in the moonlight.
Gills formed, I breathe.

Water seeps into my lungs;
taking it in my mouth I can taste it;
I am filled with its wetness,
the salty tang welling up in my blood.

I move into the depths,
water whispering and stirring against my fins,
Small currents create rivers within rivers,
closing my eyes I can almost see them.