I hear voices in water. A dripping faucet is a lying whisper, keeping me awake at night. A glass of ice water accuses me of things I’ve never done. The soft patter of rain is a concert hall of voices singing in chorus. Their song an opera of regret. A river shouts, a bully pulpit of psalms. The ocean, the depths to infinity, rage and hubris, naming my faults, testifying to my unworthiness as I enter the pearly gates.