There is something sacred in water.
Any water will do.
Even here.
The water in the public pool.
The exchange of names while soaking together in the hot bubbling jets.
The cool freshness of breeze through the open window sweeping the chlorine cloud away.
The woman brushing its surface and crossing herself as she enters.
Bodies dancing swaying moving through the lazy river.
Yogic breathing before the next lap.
Beat and stride of oldies vibrating through the air.
Moving. Breathing. Wet.
No photo of today’s sacred pool. That is for another time.
