thirst, the long march to getting here

the water doesn’t look deep.   but the water is.

above the ankles.   more than shoulder height.   one measure of me.

breathing underwater, a skill yet unlearned.   keep an eye on the fish.

they say that’s how I began.   a salted rendering of ideas into the pond.

        use your hand.   draw a circle into the Earth.
draw a shoreline close.   bare feet on wet sand.   water low breathing.

feel the wave take sand from beneath your feet.   come now, home to me.

first, I think I’m writing this.   then life says, no, write this instead.

who are the ghosts that get embedded into the creases of a life?

Janet, Louis.   like it was yesterday.   Virginia.   Mother, that’s half a world.

Marsha, Ione.   Breathing (we hope) but gone, far lost faces far away.

like Robert, more commonly called Bob.   the youngest best of a century.

Like Paul.   Like Kathleen.   a space man, drowned.   and a love, half lost.

Charles.   with a period at the end.   generous love that humbles me.

     a Tahitian circle in the sand.   there, that was me (saying no).

I thought it was a hurricane.   I didn’t step across.   No, won’t explain.

several, no, many cats.   if you know, you understand.   their tails are long.

good habits.   lost along the way.   whateverwillfit.   makes no sense.

love, random kin.   honesty.   like fruit, some bruised but given away.
does water care?   equilibrium floats.   water stirs orphans with a spoon.

one hand in the water flow.  waves shaped from horses running bare.

too much to ask of pockets.   let rivers raise their arms.   promise gravity.

our faces, subject to waters measure.   oatmeal lands inside the bowl.

and yes, water lands where it will.   rain makes room.   says,
this refrain:

be the stone in the middle of the creek.

be surrounded.   be.




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