Drawn to water

I’ve been playing about with poetic writing recently, not poetry as such or poems, but using words differently from how I normally use them when writing stories. Mot for some reason seem to be on the theme of light through trees on water:

Maybe we’re drawn to water to read something there, to read it even if we don’t understand. Maybe we’re drawn to water for something to reflect or sparkle or glimmer, something which later we’ll reflect on, and something will emerge, a thought, an understanding, a sparkle a glimmer.

Maybe we’re drawn to water because something may be hidden, something growing, swimming, lurking, something thrown, something slipped from a hand and splashed unseen. Maybe there’s treasure, not for us, for others, maybe there are things hiding not hidden, let fall, given.

Maybe we’re drawn to light on water for something shown or something given back, the light from the sun given back from the water. Maybe we’re drawn to light on water as a signal, as a sign, pointing. Maybe we’re drawn to light on water like creatures to a flame, a dancing light on water, a shimmering light on water, a dance, a shimmer.

Maybe we like to look at light through trees on water as through a veil, as through a crack in a door, as in a chink in a shutter, maybe we like to peep, to see part not all

We’re drawn to water, to light on water, to light on water through trees.