New Occidental Poetry

Fluid

The way water moves
Slowly sliding down a pane
On a quiet day in a quiet place
Beckoning you to wait

The way water moves
Pouring from a painted pitcher
Into a dingy glass that sweats from the heat
In a place too hot for words

The way water moves
Languid and lascivious
A timid tempest in a deep pool
While ageless trees pay mute tribute

The way water moves
Listless and still
Never touched, never taken
In a room with no windows

The way water moves
Locked away from time and tide
Buried deep under brothers
Waiting for no one

The way water moves
Makes me think about you
How time takes no toll
How it always pushes through

-Frederick Algernon