Day 63: Holding Water

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It can’t be done,

holding water.

 

it slips through your fingers.
it absorbs through the skin.

 

 

You can freeze it –

in time
in space

– but if you want to hold it,
you’ll have to freeze, too,

 

‘cause your pulse, the blood in your hand, the charge of your heart
would melt it, over time –

and not much time.

 

It leaks from our eyes,
from our brows,
from our chests,
and the backs of our knees.

In strings of silk glass flowing

we drip

and trace wet trails
along the curves of our skin.

it can’t be held in.

it can’t be held in.

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said the water to the lovers:

In me you can bathe,
in me you can swim,
in me you can drown,
or barely surface skim.

I give you my deep,
I give you my wide,
and break your locked horizons,
and hold you in my tides,

but do not think I’ll be held still
for my nature is to move.
Though you may want eternal soak,
in rapids’ fall, I oft reprove.

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