I found the water in pieces

by Umm-e-Aiman Vejlani

that weren’t ripples, capillaries or waves;
she moved with the agility of a new-born fish,

revealing nothing of her characteristics,
her fins not fully developed to the system

of sharing without telling;
her jaunty curious expeditions,

miles of space in front of her, beneath
the grace in grace, letting it be;

the wisdom only the water she consumed
unknowing if her scales would grow even

and that losing was not the same as shedding,
what broke off couldn’t re-journey

but hybrids like pieces travelling backwards

it didn’t matter how far to go,
the water would chisel to refinement

until nothing remained but a cloud
(in water)

that smelt and tasted different.