Fluid Dynamics

She puts a thumb to the sink’s curved edge.
Splashes capture ice and glass, trace
the pull of skin, pitch towards the waste.
She lays a palm against the window pane,
watches beads form patterns on the outer surface.
If she could reach the other side her fingertips
would course their rivulets, feel for a wave.
She’d flow like liquid, braided streams
held within her skin. Eased into its turbulence,
the anchor’s weight is lost in churning foam –
a white water rider slipping the web of belts
that tie her to the raft.