Water

No, I had never heard of a movie by the name, The Shape Of Water. No, I do not know from whence the inspiration for this poem is to be drawn. And no, I know not which direction to take nor where this poem is going. But yes, I think that water has a mind of its own and goes where it pleases. This poem might pour rain waters down like the Great Deluge in Noah's day. Or this poem might keep its head in the clouds where multiple shapes of water exist. Or this poem might take the wings of white droplets, giving us uniquely crafted snow flakes. I suspect that water loves to roam, has no real home or form, nor any shape of its own. Were I to guess from observation, water takes the shape of its target and moves in the direction of least resistance but will clearly force its way. Give water an opened container, and she will fill every empty space, forming the shape of the container; but if closed, water may either encircle or forcibly move such object. I suspect that for the most part, on this planet water exits in the form of liquids. In other parts, water takes the form of ice, snow, and slowly melting glaciers. Given an earthquake in the deep blue sea, water may come rushing in high speeds with waves reaching the ocean shores in a variety of sizes in the form of a destructive tsunami. Any inspiration I've had has run dry. I'm thirsty for a drink of water. 061521PSCtest, The Shape Of Water, craig cornish