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Dreaming of water
Disturbing the waters, the ripple effect, the eddy, the backwash, the tsunami, the rush of water streaming through body and spirit, universal and oceanic.
Pulled by the tide, a container of water, I stretch this way and that, distorted, fighting for balance and shape.
Slippery beneath my feet, every surface is wet.
Every surface not to be trusted, my own feet.
I step carefully.

Skimming the surface, I miss so much.
In immersion, immersed, experience swims deep.
Disoriented, deeply swimming, I wallow or panic, fearing drowning.
Sometimes, though, I breathe.

Flowing with the current, I am one.
Losing the current, the current dissipating in some larger sea, I am bereft.
“Where is the force that moved me?”

Sometimes I swim in someone else’s ocean.
Then I get wet.
Our currents combine in unpredictable surprises.
Some I like.

I am not a fish.
A guest only, I swim on a day pass, getting air elsewhere, a curiosity.
The natives look on wryly.

Later, dryly, I sit pondering wetness, immersion, the silence and unreachability of the ultimate deep, except in dreams.

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