Dennis Maulsby

I slow-step through chill skim milk fog, arms out,
booted feet tender on ice-glazed grass.

The forest surrounds me. Branches crusted thick
with frozen fog whiskers, half snow, half lace
change into coral heads, reefs. Misty currents

eddy, blend into swirling ocean banners.
My lungs fill and empty, transform the ordinary,
spout liquid threads high into the haze.

Sounds come in humid pulses, ratcheting
clicks, high-pitched whistles and moans,
whale songs casting spells of salt and seaweed.

I sense the passage of schools of glittering scales.
From my flesh tail and fins bud, grow, push. My body
flexes in muscled ripples, knife-slices

through cold buoyant vapor. Skin satin black and cream,
I am Orca, rows of finger-long conical teeth, smiling.