Virgin

It was
The smooth stone,
Falling,
Sliding,
Into the lake,
The glistening pool,
Far,
Far below.
Vines droop over the edge,
Allowing their
Limp,
Languishing,
Limbs,
To stir the surface,
Of the crystalline waters.
A breeze shifts the canopy,
The great green roof,
Of this, our natural cathedral.
But that breeze,
It cannot,
It does not,
Touch the waters,
Sighing at my feet.
They ripple.
They shift.
They breath.
See the breast of the water,
Rise and fall,
Rise,
Fall,
Riiiiiiise.
A dying breath and it is still.
Then a creatures moves a vine,
Tickling,
Touching,
The great blue eye,
And it blinks,
And breathes,
Again.
The stone glimmers,
Shines.
It too is blue,
Crystalline like the waters,
Like the waters it embraces.
Those glassy cliffs,
Dropping into the pool,
Look like ice,
Reaching for the image of its past.
The cliffs are still,
Dead.
The water,
It breathes.
A living pool,
Fed with life.
Behind me stand the hateful howls.
Behind me screams,
Paint,
Spear,
Blood.
Then one swift move.
I fall,
Slowly,
Slowly,
Floating,
Splash.
The water swallows my body,
Its insatiable mouth closes over my head.
Here I am a fish.
I swim.
The pool is left unsatisfied.
And the voices do not know.
I am a fish.