If I had gills
I could do this better,
Breathing water
in which I refuse
to drown
fins that might
spin me up
to places
where I might
find something
less liquid to
breathe
or a tail to flip
so I might sip
real air
the haze of this life
wiping clear
the horizon I have
grown accustomed
to seeing
as thick as sea water
and as hard to breathe
when I rush so hard
to catch a breath
I can’t ever hope to catch,
Too deep in this
To ever come up
For air
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