Ninety Percent of My Body is Water

I do not expect revelation.
     I do not expect dawn to make much sense.
I look off at a temple and wonder—
     what religion; and,
          who is praying at this hour.
East, a fire burns, the smoke visible;
     all that remains of an abandoned warehouse,
          leaving behind a hole in the old city center.
The fire trucks sit cold in their silos,
     their hoses coiled,
          the hydrants untapped.
               No one is coming to put this out,
                    its death immune to water anyway.—
Water drawn from beneath Earth’s breast,
     once warmed in the belly of a locust,
          once joined a swell to sink a frigate.
Water has been around the world,
     water has been around forever.
          It has never been lighter than air.

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