Water

The the current unwinds like a argentine thread,
sewing the land with its glistening touch,
lapping at stones smoothed with strokes,
whispering secrets, slick and green.
radiance gathers in the deep of its folds,
Fragmented sun-shards, lambent beads,
Rippled rhythms, each wave a canticle
to earth eminents and sky beckoning. 

Come home. 

Mist, rising in ghostly veils at aurora,
wraps trees in robes of dripping pearls,
drifting, shifting, weaving air
Into silken veils, no two alike,
Hovers over fields like a held note,
Evanescing at the sun’s first glimpse
a miracle that warmth dissolves,
A daily Sabbath until dusk distills its drops.

And rain ah, the rain…
it sings against rooftops in a thousand tongues,
Taming the loam, feeding life,
pulling forth the green from sleep.
It gathers in the cup of hands,
runs in rivulets down tired faces,
a baptism, a renewal, a promise
etched into the skin of the world.

Ice, solemn and patient,
holds time in its grasp,
primordial, before us all,
Wafts in wisps of frozen mist.
It waits in silence,
a sculptor’s dream held still,
Patient, poised to relent
When the urging of spring insists.

Within us, water stirs unseen,
And eddy, brackish, where spring meets sea.
Cloaked in veins, in respiration, in thought,
bearing the memory of oceans past.
A cleansing vestment,
A ritual for tired hands,
Quenches blaze in dry hearts,
fills the empty places with lucent strength.

A tireless wanderer, issuing
The essence of life itself,
the argentine glass of all that was,
Reflecting what is, an unborn prophet.
Rising, falling, thoughtless beauty,
The paint that gilds antiquarian poets
And spills the splendor of heaven.