Here is a glass of water from my well.
It tastes of rock and root and earth and rain;
It is the best I have, my only spell,
And it is cold, and better than champagne.
Perhaps someone will pass this house one day
To drink, and be restored, and go his way,
Someone in dark confusion as I was
When I drank down cold water in a glass,
Drank a transparent health to keep me sane,
After the bitter mood had gone again.
Have you felt the essence of water
as she slips through your fingers?
She is wild and invigorating
~She is spiritual~
She sustains life and is sacred
She's both inspirational and moody
Divinely speaks in beautiful mystery
At times she will awaken
All tranquility is disturbed
She gently cleanses both hands and souls
Quietly waters your gardens in Eden
Fiercely drowns your private Hells
The essence of water
as she slips through your fingers
is wild and invigorating
~She is transforming~
There are some nights
when I love the taste of water,
but I reach for whiskey instead.
I'll lay somewhat less awake in bed
until the morning when I know
I'll swallow enough in the shower.
It's nothing insurmountable,
like the cleanliness of an infant being baptized.
The congregation stares straight-mouthed
until the next baby is washed
and it stares blankly into the crowd
and the parents are proud.
The water hollowed the stone,
the wind dispersed the water,
the stone stopped the wind.
Water and wind and stone.
The wind sculpted the stone,
the stone is a cup of water,
The water runs off and is wind.
Stone and wind and water.
The wind sings in its turnings,
the water murmurs as it goes,
the motionless stone is quiet.
Wind and water and stone.
One is the other and is neither:
among their empty names
they pass and disappear,
water and stone and wind.
We walk immersed
in an ocean of mist
If that mist would vanish
we would vanish
Our husks would crumble
without shape to be
scattered on dry winds
Fill your vessel with water
then plunge your hand
into its mysteries
With it our faces are formed
Our dreams wander
paths of its currents
Where it touches earth we gather
drawn to kneel and drink
so that we may know it and live
As the moon rolls it follows
and we follow with it
We call it by name
Grave of sailors
Crown of mountains
Mother of thunder
Quencher of fire and
Sister to the flame within
Transparent yielding womb of all
In it breath forged in stars and
cast out to form rain and bear fruit
Without it even cactus wither
It sustains the scorpion and the king
A hawk beneath the cloud cries five
times in tribute to its beauty
Trees thrust spiraling into great
heights by its power
Deep in the forest it conspires
with stone to make music
And wherever sounds that melody
life springs forth and
that life cannot be forbidden