Water of Life


So will it be like this,
lying still,
the bath gone cold, but I
disinclined to rise?

I pull the plug out, take the chain
between my toes, the water drains
by gravity,
the water runs away like apathy
no effort of its own
the water pools
world wide
and sans volition, reinvented, in due course, it falls
again
as rain.

Tropically driven, typhoon, wave or in suspension, mist;
condensed or frozen, falling to the land
to land again
and let itself with no compunction
find repose.

Are we like snow,
do we
re-incarnate like rain?
Does two percent of dry disqualify and if so
does the water, ninety eight percent of it, just flow
and cut us through indifferently as water floods a plain?

And will it be like this,
the bath gone cold and, disinclined again to rise, I'll pull the plug out,
take the chain between my toes.

The water drains
by gravity,
the water runs away by apathy
the water goes.

No effort of my own,
I'll let myself
with no compunction
cleaned of life of expectation
find repose?