They go down to the water
carrying clay pots.
dip and lift
dip and lift
Life runs down their arms
in rivulets to the river.
The jars are slick when they return.
Each vessel
faithfully carried.
They have not dropped one
yet.
5/7/19
I write things and put them on the Internet.
They go down to the water
carrying clay pots.
dip and lift
dip and lift
Life runs down their arms
in rivulets to the river.
The jars are slick when they return.
Each vessel
faithfully carried.
They have not dropped one
yet.
5/7/19
the lights of camden across
the way blot out the stars
(or maybe it’s just low cloud cover)
ribbons of silver on black
shimmering waves
wind on water
sending chills—
—only skin deep
bass rumbles
deckboards underfoot
and I’m glad that I’m sad.
It’s a beautiful night.
5/3/19
Water is the Great Connector–
it’s roughly seventy percent
of us, and the Earth’s surface.
The water you drank today
likely sustained a dinosaur
sixty-six million years ago.
Small wonder if our actions
ripple right through it:
the acid we dump into streams
comes back raining on our heads.
Small wonder if my voice
carries clear across the bay.
Waves are easy to overlook
because they start out small:
maybe we’ll be surprised when
the rising tide over-takes us all.
10/13/15