Water peels in glassy tongues
over blue enamel ledges
of this fountain's terraces
and pools in the periphery
to be sucked up by pumps
then dance downstairs
again with gravity
The sound soothes me
like a heavy rain.
Is it because I heard
my mother's blood
rush through the umbilical cord,
or that my nomad ancestors
knew moving water
as the sound of life?
When I was a boy
and it rained
I made little boats
from walnut shells
and launched them
down the turbid gutters.
I never found them.
Water does that.
By sound
or transportation
it carries us
from one place to another
without our knowing.