Being water to mold sand castle people,
whose sediments keep falling away,
just enough to sculpt prehistoric figurines
or too much so they fall into mushy mounds.
You are the in between.
You can't erode scars,
baptize sins,
wash away hangovers,
drown out their fears.
Only they can nourish their raw throats,
scrub the built up grime,
swim as they sink into themselves.
You are merely the oasis.
Still in your place,
A heavenly destination in times of desperation.
Move softly, never stagnate.
Patience.