If I was a body of water, if my body was water

amandabhslater / Flickr

If I was a body of water, if my body was water

If I was a body of water, what would I be?

If my body was water 

how would you explore it?

Would I be a pond,

would lilypads grow on my surface

decorate me in green and pink?

Would koi swim in my waters,

soft ripples in my skin?

When the sun reflects off my every facet

would you look for your reflection?

Would you build a bench in the grass and pebbles beyond me

and sit for hours and watch?

Or would you swim in my waters?

I, the open sea,

you, a great whale, 

I, deep blue in my calm; black in my tempest

you, an unchanging, brilliant gray in my depths.

When the wind sweeps me into towers and blades

would you still come up for air,

or would you wait the storm out?

And where would you hide if I was a waterfall?

Fish fall to their deaths in my rapids, 

so you must be a rock.

Yes, I’d run over you time and time again 

and you’d bend to my will.

When I’m done with you, your surface will glisten 

with my image

Your song will echo my voice.

Most of all, I hope you see me as the rain:

I’ll come and go, and you’ll remember me 

in every body droplet that catches on your face.

I’ll send my love in dazzling mosaics of color in the sky.

I am as free as the rain

and as beautiful as after the storm.

And when the grass glistens with dew and the trees bear fruit,

you’ll think of me,

and realize that I have no body.