if i could see a drop of rain from the inside i would still never understand water even in my bed at night my body somehow leaks moisture and i am left thirsty, forced to trek from my cocoon for another drink in a glass of water a pencil becomes a bended ray of light pointing at impossible angles and when removed is again straight the glass no less changed than before water is not the air i breathe yet it is a part of each breath water shapes the world the morning dew from which bees drink, the slow drip that smooths canyon walls and hollows mountains, the summer waterfalls over desert cliffs the deep springs lapped from the lips of deer water is more necessary to life than air we are born in water, and that is where we will return. we are not dust turning to dust, nor ash to ash, but we are water turning to water.
mostly water (poem)
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