All water is a part of other water. Cloud talks to lake; mist speaks quietly to creek. Lake says something back to cloud, and cloud listens. No water is lonely water. All water is a part of other water. River rushes to reunite with ocean; Tree drinks rain and sweats out dew; Dew takes elevator into cloud; Cloud marries puddle; puddle has long conversation with lake about fiord; Fog sneaks up and murmurs insinuations to swamp; Swamp makes needs known to marshland; Thunderstorm throws itself on estuary; Waterspout laughs at joke of frog pond. All water understands. All water understands. Reservoir gathers information for database of watershed; Brook translates lake to waterfall; Tide wrinkles its green forehead and then breaks through. All water understands. But you, you stand on the shore of blue Lake Kieve in the evening and listen, grieving as something stirs and turns within you. Not knowing why you linger in the dark. Not able even to guess from what you are excluded.