Back Home From The Sea

  1. Rain, I want to speak with you

as I watch you fall, 

now drops 

now clouds of  water 

streaming, teaming down.

 

I want to tell you what I know

And as all our cells 

can show.

Your liquid 

Is the essence 

of us all.

 

The sea is filled with you.

Each squall, each stormy night

Of silver falling, falling 

shards of light

Is there within each drop, each puddle

Each muddy hole 

on leafy forest floor

Each flooding river

Crushing all 

within its flowing flight.

 

I want to say to you 

that I have plunged

within your clearest depths

In seas that churn

And bays wherein

the deep of you 

Lies quiet and serene.

 

I have smelled your salt 

With strange desire

And sensed the bodies of your fish

As if my flesh were fins.


I watch you with contentment or

with that anxious anticipation 

of your accumulating threat

From inside rooms

Kept warm with some strange 

element of fire

 

I want to say to you

that your atoms 

know not good nor bad.

No thoughts of hatred nor of  joy

pass through any drop

Yet, your collective force  

Can purify or destroy

Engender peace or strife.

 

Each living cell

Contains the what of you

Not charged with any job

but to be the medium 

for the vibrancy of life.

 

Can you purify our lies?

Can you satisfy our cries 

of thirst for common decency

For knowledge of our ties?

 

I want to talk to you 

of this strange, stark 

state of  wonder 

that you are me 

and I am you

And somehow we are flowing 

Now down,  then under

Through all the streets 

and all the streams

And all your states of being

Back then  to the sea.

Swiftly

Suddenly, some balance somewhere
Shifted.
The stilling air of afternoon
has filled with swarms of gnats
And the swifts, gone for so long
Diving now and climbing
swooping in their zigzag flight
Appeared as from a secret niche
Hidden in some silent fold
In time and space
Called by a faint note, unheard
To eat their fill and then return


How quickly the balance scale can tip
And the unexpected be what is.
Soon neither swarming gnats nor swooping birds
Are seen
And the empty air of afternoon
Has changed its light
To suit the movement
Of the clouds
And the rhythm of the stream.