More Like Dying

My hair swiffed—floated.
And ended up tangled with
the reeds and water ferns.

I could see a lilly pad—
like a dull star next to the
twinkling of the sunlight on the surface
of the floundering waves.
My fingers brushed against
the gills of a lake trout
as it darted past.

It was not like drowning afterall
but more like dying.