The moon as an early, growing, fishy fetus. The title's a line from an old Cat Stevens song in his pagan period. I feel like a sort of half-developed fetus walking around in your dry air... too wet and squiggly and undeveloped for your post-amniotic world.

Then the moon rises and my spirit's gills open and I feel all right again, breathing dreams... It takes guts and work to stop maturing, and stay... amphibian.

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