I'm Water In Your Cupped Hands

The intensity of your focus

- trying your best not to spill a drop,

makes your hands tremble

which sends ripples through me, 

pushing me further to the perimeter, 

further away from that comfortable center you've created for me.

Your head is down

- tunnel vision becoming hazy over time.

I seep through your wrinkled fingers, 

ebbing over the taut pads of your palms.
Your focus is waning,

and here I am straining to keep it all together. 

All at once,
I break.

I separate my molecules

and evaporate into the unknown.

You break down 

into tiny particles, 

and kneel at the foot of the shore, 

the brine touching your toes 

and streaming down your cheeks at the same time.

Not knowing

that in a three nights

I'll collide with your bedroom window sash. 

I'll gather what bits of myself I can find,

and catch your gaze during blinding lightening flash.

I'll find myself to your well, 

I'll rise to your faucet, 

and it won't be long until I'm in that glass on your nightstand.

I'll pass through you
- like an apparition stumbling toward you,
off balance and arms stretch out
seeking an embrace.

I'll leave behind
some kind of trace,

so you won't ever have to be alone. 

Jordan R Shaver 4.12.2017