That was the week it rained
As if the world thought it could begin again
In all the innocence of mud,
And we just stayed there
By the window, watching,
So aloof from our amphibious desires
That we didn’t recognize
The heaviness we took to be
Dissatisfaction with the weather
To be, in fact, the memory
After buoyancy, of weight,
Of belly scraping over beach.
We didn’t notice, in our restlessness,
The webbed toes twitching in our socks,
The itch of evolution,
Or its possibilities.