This fluid state I’m in could be ocean or amnion:
semi-permeable, I flow through membrane,
breathing liquid as easily as oxygen.

What is it for, to be born of Spirit and water,
if not a baptism that entirely dissolves me in you.
I cannot explain, but I will be born anew.

Don’t believe me, I don’t care, but still I dare you,
die to self until you do. Then—and here’s the ticket—
you too will try to articulate the secret.

March 21, 2014 — Alexandra Hunter
Tags: poetry