There was the boy from home said to be allergic
to water, one of the M twins, the other, thinner,
presumably able to shower, brush teeth,
get caught in the rain without erupting in rash,
this one filled out, as they said, inflated
like an inner tube to ensure he’d never go under,
whereas his brother, thin as minnow, undulated
below, releasing small air bubbles that floated
skyward toward his brother, his identical twin,
the one who couldn’t trail his hands in the water,
who watched with eyes he didn’t dare let fill.
The M twins, having swum together since
conception, now separating, tadpole
to limbed froglet to land-locked bearded lizard,
phylogeny recapitulating ontology,
they gaze into the smooth mirror
of the lake’s surface, cannot see themselves
looking back.