Water rushes far
Over edge of horizon,
Falling to soft mist.
Water flowing long
From mountains to below limit,
Pooling harmony.
Sleep is the water
River sand in eyes,
River stone eyelids.
Wet whispers echo
Telling stories in dry voice,
The story goes here:
"A boy swam here once
Lovers met here long ago,
Nourished were they all."
Sleep rushes over
Drowning,
I am drowning,
save me, help me.
Someone, anyone,
give me a reason,
To save my life.
I wanna live,
But i am drowning,
in a pool,
of nothing but darkness.
Show me the light,
give me a reason,
to save my life,
from the darkness.
Someone,
anyone,
The scorching heat.
The chafing winds.
The grinding sands.
The rushing of a river.
A single drop, the water of worlds.
A gentle mist of wind.
A softness of skin.
A burning of strain.
Pool the blood, the source of life.
Carving of flesh.
Breaking of bone.
Living of death.
To suffer and to solace, both to live and to die.
I am drowning
The sea lapses over my head
The current pushes me further down
My legs beat and bate to no avail
The icy water rushes
It conforms to my body
In the face of the endless sea
I am naught but a grain of sand
Soon my legs stop
As I succumb to the lashing darkness
As twilight eclipses my vision
My last thought is not of my loved ones
But what shall become of me at my midnight hour
The green remains
And the greys and browns of yesteryear
Upon moving blues
And stalwart reds,
I wish to be one with the water.
The wind shifted waves
Moving throughout my veins,
The life lump my skin.
Lightly compacted by the land around me.
I wish for people to bask in my cool beauty.
My everspanning deep.
I wish to reflect the world upon my self.
I wish for my flesh to reveal your true being.
Come,
Stare upon my form
Within you, see me
I am a rose.
I wilt when I am down.
I have thorns and I grow.
A stem to hold me.
My thorns protect me
From getting hurt,
Getting betrayed,
Getting my heart yanked from me.
My petals are gentle.
They are sensitive.
They are fragile.
They can break.
My stem holds me up.
Keeps me stable.
Keeps me alive.
Keeps me down to Earth.
Chrysosplenium americanum
The so-called water carpet
forms a creeping mat
over soggy, springy ground,
its flowers so tiny & indistinct
as almost to escape notice,
lacking petals, greenish
except for the red dots
of anthers & the brown
verge of its own
miniscule wetland:
sweet pool for some
lucky gnat.
meltwater shimmers
atop the ice
plastic trail marker
the click beetle’s antennae
sweep back and forth
ancient hemlock grove
I find the patch of moss
where I once spent the night
On the 30th day of August, 1700,
I ordered water to be drawn from the ditches
where the wormy sheep drank
& when I came home, & was busy viewing
the multiplicity of very small animals
drifting through the water, I saw
very many great round particles
of the bigness of a corn of sand
moving & revolving in the water.
Their outward skin was quite set over
with protruberant parts, which seemed
triangular & pointed towards the end,
all orderly & equally distant,
so that on one small body did stand
about two thousand. This was to me
a very pleasant sight, because as often
see how much turning
all things do
whether door or water
stories or ages
for the world is laboring
to eclipse us
the dove and wren
pleased with our chimney
to walk up and down the hill
a dull place
and not see
the red fox
where light and water met
incognito
water and sun
friends of drink
promise me a change
I miss joy
and idle talk
in the garden