I have been a bit behind in posting. I hope you have had a good week!
Here are the newest water poems:
1.17.12
Each day, my twitter feed
lists dramatic weather, pleas for
snow, concern about our
lack of winter.
Each day, I look out the window
to analyse cloud formations.
Each day, the sky yields
disappointing results. Water
is moving in a different direction.
Drip. drip. drip
of rain or sleet
crossing this boundary,
lakes open to the clouds above.
1.18.12
a wash a shore a drift
and this settling
rough seas ahead see the waves
off in the distance? Thisness
called tidal pool
tribal remembrance of what
echo on land pulse of the planet
plants speaking deep under
reef and ledge–
1.19.12
here, and here, she
. said pointing
to the spots where we would
apply drops of luminous water–
a clear glass filled,
map charted — first, California
and Colorado, Arizona and Nevada,
the snaking pipelines emptying–
Your last drop of water
might appear as a snowflake
or morning dew on a leaf in the garden,
we just don’t know what
this will look like, he said —
what waters’ rise will
teach, we here learning how
to build bridges, roads,
and houses —
an exhale and the hum
of the unforeseen —
1.20.12
Ocean just warm enough
. clouds catch dump drown
the small towns underneath
rainfall exceeding records not by decimals
. but by double digits
sand on fields that used
to feed hundreds
acres bare,
waiting–
Our human estimates conservative
. this agenda radical
have more fun being
. aggressively naive–
we just don’t know, he shook
his head, voice softening–
1.21.12
how the snow–
how nothing happened — just
a spin, slight fan, ice melting
down the back —
how the dishes in the sink —
how hot-headed, I — just
loud enough to be
heard in the bedroom —
how the ordinary afternoon —
how ice and shovel — just
then they emerged,
offered hellos and quips about
the plowman’s precision,
garden unscathed —
1.22.12
I was just thinking how I always needed
an ocean grandmother to hear my stories —
I looked in my cupboard and found it
wanting — no sea salt, no foam, no striped
stones for wishing —
I was just thinking that I needed
this roar, this deep silence,
but I couldn’t ask her for it, could I?
I have been thinking that all I needed
were a few sand dollars, a stone in the shape
of a heart, and the surf lapping
at my winter boots —
it was this, tonight, this sunset,
the eider ducks bobbing with the waves,
that reminded me that all I needed
was —