water

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Drip

Drop

Water has an invisible origin, a cyclical existence. It becomes and becomes in eternal fluidity.

It is held, formed and fallen by repetition.

My body is already mainly formed by it.
My mothers and fathers. My planet.

Through rippling and fickle form, it turns the image of the world back upon itself in deep pools of reflection. It falls and seeps down into spaces that other things cannot reach, absorbed and leaked by the world.

The conditions within which it sits change its qualities and colours. Small quantities may appear to be colourless, almost invisible but for a casting of light. In purest form, water has a slight blue colour that becomes deeper with thickness. Blue is the purest colour.

Water absorbs colours in the red part of the light spectrum, a fluid filter leaving behind the sedimented pigment of blue for our eyes to see. Light bouncing on particles and grain floating in its grip allow the ocean to turn any hue: green, purple and orange.

I think of blood, now pink, swirling. Dissolving and diluting into the wetness.

I think of the rhythmic cycles of my body, sustained by the currents i’m immersed in

inorganic, transparent, tasteless, odorless

The water cycle extends deep into the Earth's interior as the oceanic crust subducts, or slides, under adjoining plates of crust and sinks into the mantle, carrying water with it.
More than just the water that circulates between the atmosphere, oceans and surface waters, it passes through all the matter on this planet. Consumed and secreted by the living and nonliving, material and immaterial.

Deep within our planet, at the Earth’s mantle are bright blue rocks; formed at high temperatures and pressures. These diamonds hold hidden reservoirs, sweating and releasing the water to be carried to the surface by volcanic activity.

Mg₂SiO₄

Water not weeping from sky but seeping from ground

again and again and again

Infinite liberty

Held in mineral grip

Liquid stone of polymorphic form

Calling the arms of life to bear

I inhabit gently, quietly. I float on the surface of the water and listen to the soft drag of sediment along the ocean floor. Small things and grains and bits collide and flow and shuffle past each other, an entire world below calling out to my ears, drifting up towards the surface, muffled and rhythmic. A creature of habit, I carve out patterns of living and follow closely the indented lines. Ritual, routine, familiarity, safety, ceremony. When it evaporates I'm left with a small pile of salt. I stick the crystals in my mouth and they set my tongue tingling. I feel the tides they once rolled in and hear the roaring crashing waves.

Fluidity. Transparency. Muted. Muffled. Blue. The water makes me think of bodies, not just bodies of water but bodies in general. Barriers between flesh and liquid. Sand and Cell. Living bodies within bigger bodies. We’re all Matryoshka dolls. Things within things. Consumed. Contained.

Like water I want to live

Like water I weep

And when I can weep no more

I lay at the bottom

Worn out and utterly clear