I used to breathe in water, somewhat salty.
I saw dim shapes, felt wobble and jolt
the constant companion of a beat,
a soft mallet on a stretched skin
I thought I wanted to evade until
it became part of me and I panicked
when it seemed to fade. Sometimes a long hum,
a sigh washed through me; I tried replying
and my feet drummed sponge-like walls. I did not know
I was alone until an enormous
force pushed then pulled me from my home,
rolled, pummeled me, forced me into
uproar and din and horrifying light.