Water is warm and lands softly
On my face, my hair.
It is soft and gentle on
Everything it touches,
Leaving the world gleaming quietly.
It patters as it falls into my bucket,
The loudest sound there is.
The gentle pittering of
Fat, loving drops
Enveloping the world
In beauty.
My bucket fills with the
Warm, creamy water.
Clean, rippling, distorting
The reflection of my
Peaceful face. It
Is mine.
But even as I watch, the warmth
Leaks from my body
As the water
From the bucket.
For my bucket
Is a basket, and
Everything it catches slips through its cracks.
Before it knows what is happening,
Everything it tried to hold is
Gone, and it knows
Nothing it touches will
Stay, my basket. Once again my
Hands
Are empty of
Everything they only
Wanted to hold.