Summer, part 2

Water.

Oh, to soak, to sink

in dreams
of you, to wade through you, or drown, perhaps, but gloriously. Because I cannot swim.

Stop struggling, they say. The tide will bear you to safety. I find it hard to believe, but it's not wholly impossible--nothing ever is. Some things are like water;

so pour me out.

These lines are figments--I am standing somewhere square.

Trickle down my throat, or wash over me.

Solid things wear me down; edges can be scathing. Hard surfaces, those bricks, that street. A rock and a wall, you say, and I, in between.

Let me flow, instead.

Billow, crest, and fall, and start again. And again, and again. There is rhythm in repetition, but beauty lies in swirls. Oh, let me swirl. I want to swirl with you. I want to swirl in you.

It's this darn heat.

"I wish I had a river", Joni once sang. I wish I were a river.

Tonight, the moon glows bright, illuminating the rivulets coursing through my mind, liquid pathways that lead to you.

The moon seldom ever insists its presence, but it always finds its way here. Like you do.

This page is full of abstractions, invisible streams gushing everywhere, taunting my delirious brain.

Will somebody please hand me a glass of water.