I feel buried beneath it all. The cold, the cracks, the ice. Stress cracks me; it leaves indentations behind. They can’t be shaped. But they remain parts of myself, my story, my water’s memory. So I move with them, my wounds, my words, my water. My being.
I am not always ice; I am not always water; I am not always steam. I am always the shifts—limitless—in between.
When I crack as ice, I flow through water; when I flow through water, I pick up steam; when I pick up steam, I become rain, then ice, then water. I’m not a phase; I am constant transformation. The potential: different matters, different headspaces, different states. Different states of water.
I freeze, melt, condense, evaporate, sublimate, and re-sublimate. I shift states.
Through and beside and with and in the states of water: the states of being.
Shift, I shift.
I am water. I am water.
I am water.