The Loneliness of Water

It lives in its head.
Naked mind that thinks in driftwood,
dreams fish inside its skull of sand.
It cannot make up its mind,
dissolving, dissolved, dissolves,
floating, sinking,
engulfing, revealing,
returning, departing.
It needs all the time in the world,
it says, to make up its mind.
Birds look down,
but keep their distance.
Reflections of you and me
skip across its tongue’s
rolling Rs, calling out to us again,
once more its pebbly lips
mistaking us for rain,
and by the time
it catches up,
our feet are fossils
strewn in the sand.

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