The Water Walks

Translate for me the sound
Of the rain in bloom, against
Hortensia, hydrangeas, the
Blue on white window sills.
Through the fluid voice of
Gray skies, seedless clouds
Damp from salt-ridden sea foam
Meaning springs forth
In a trickle.

But it tells me nothing—
Less than what I even know
Less than what the
Definition of a whispering howl,
Wolf-like winds, lost through
Mangled and filtered,
Clamoring chambers of trees—
Losing—
Whatever, it could be.

And raindrops,
Unintelligible, indecipherable as
Morse code, embalmed in
Static;
"What does it mean?"
I wonder, insistently
Sitting here, on the porch.
"What can it mean?"
Is my only reply, groaning
From a drenched magnolia tree, waiting
For the weather to clear.

I am waiting too, hoping to flood,
To run my notebook,
("My branches, My buds")
Over with a
Surge of voiceless euphoria.
("A melting scatter of tissue, sheaves
Dropping off, flushing into an
Ireless green")
I am locked in sheer promise, pen trembling
For the words in my notebook to grow like
A shadow-less night, staining, dyeing
The veiled basin of a sky to a pure
Flawless blue.

The rain comes crashing, a torrent-
Like field of daggers, glassing
My hesitation, bridle and snare,
With a rhythm of a drum,
The tempo of a bell,
Accented with an edge of an
Ice-cold shower.
My doubt-brittle thoughts
Crack, shatter, and fall
Apart, empty-headed
Leaving me clear as birdsong.

The water walks tonight
Skipping dew and pearls across the
Miniature lakes of every puddle.
It splits, osmoses, and hatches its droplings
Into the fragmented mirror that is my front lawn.
Petite, beaded bouquets,
Trios of perfect Neptunes, pirouette and
Crescendo;
Letting an eternity of flowers become
A moment held--
In the palms of a child-
Creator, who dreams above the water.

The thoughts come,
Sowing song to the air,
Love to the masses—
Of stars clustered white—
Grapes erupting from a curtain of foliage—
Above the theatre stage of reality!

A sharp gasp. A grin.
The sound of applause rips through
My ear drums, brittle from pounding
Staccatos, the tilting
Tremor of strings.
There's a riot in my stomach
Masses of the barest, breathless
Butterflies, shoot from my mouth
Like a roar.

Eyes adjust, images fade,
A dream is but a dream, and yet.
The water walks tonight and
It flows in you, it flows in you.
The river is clear and
It grows, it grows.
Love is like a flower and
It withers, it dies,
It lives on,
In seeds,
In roots,
In trees,
Grass, and
Me.
And Love is like a flower and
It dies.

Phlegethon, with all its waters
Of blood and
Fire and
Sulfurous
Heat
Styx with dead stones
Acheron, slowed
Pitted to a mass of time
And Lethe
So hazed, misted, and fogged
Waters so clear
You could just
Go, sleep.
But their waters are the opposite of pure
They are finely ground
Dusts, screaming with the pain of
Joy in forgetting.

With what, I don't know;
But it cannot hurt to set sail in
Paper lanterns
My meager offering of tears,
Sweat, and dreams.
This is my sacrifice to a god called Life
These are my letters burned before
An altar "Growing Up"
And this is my hope
Held so in the papers containing
Verses, lines,
Stories, and plays.
The world I had created,
Rising up as a balloon does,
How it grows alone, by itself
To such an astonishing height!

I remember the magnolia tree,
Drenched in nostalgic memories:
The day the tire swing was taken down,
The day of every yearly pruning.
I remember,
Because I knew,
If only you could open yourself up to the world
You would be flooded with a God.
A God who is love
Who is sunshine
Who is grace, sweet
And Mom and Dad
And moon and sun
And you would be filled up
All Love
All petals, and flowers
Azaleas, tea leaves, and Chrysanthemum
Lilies and lilies
Mountainsides just flooded
With lilies.
Filled up, just opening
And all the world would be
Sakura
Fluttering
Five
       Centimeters
                          Per
                                 Second

And you would be Love.
Not the triteness of aerobic oration
Nor the many-lettered purging of purple prose
You would become a Love like the water
Of a river flowing through
You, the world, and
Something small, yet so vast
As to hold the boundless joy
Of living past death
Right in one moment, without a name
With nothing but you at its center
Rotating slowly on a rocking chair
Cushioned by your words
And holding your eyes closed, smiling,
Heart in tempo, bell jar clear
"I am, I am,
I am."