The Water Cycle, #214

Who knows which
came first, whether
I fell out
of you or
you crawled from
me. All that
we can be
sure of is
that since that
first strange kiss
we have been
twisting and turning,
lifting each other
up and falling
from each other
from the most
private of parts.

I have seen
aspects of you,
organs and capillaries
that you will
never see, that
even your mother,
who held you
while I danced
down the thin
strand of skin,
the umbilical cord
and carried messages
from her to you,
she was singing,
singing but could
not see. I
know what cancer
grows in you
and you have
changed my color,
my consistency, allowed
me to mix
with the various
faithful and sinful
meals you have
consumed. That day
at the lake,
the one that
hangs in the museum
of your memory
like an anchor,
like a cross,
you there, hanging
like a cross
at the weight
of the lake.

The day before,
I was in
Kentucky, the Great
Salt Lake,
The River Thames
and heard the winds
coming up from
the Gulf, I
heard you coming
and so made
my way to
the lake. I’ve
been looking for
you, missed you.

You, who have spent
too much time
inside lately, for
whom I’ve been
unable to find
an avenue or path
into your bloodstream,
soda, coffee or just
a sip of tap
water. All you drink
nowadays are those
sports drinks, those
bottled entities, water
taken from tanks
in far off
foreign countries. I’m
in the clouds
today, hung in
the thick humidity
of hundred degree
heat. Come outside
and see me,
breathe me into
your body, so
I may feel
the comfort and
bask in the
rich fluidity. I
believe it is
almost that hot
inside, that air
trapped in your
lungs and blood
in the dark
and porous veins
is that thick.

In my heart
is where I
tend to dissipate.

If you do not
wish to walk
through the hanging
mist of me,
then stop. Rest
by the municipal
pool or local
fountain, somewhere
in the park.

I will follow
you out on
the walk there,
gatorade in hand,
wiping sweat from
your brow. How
I long to
be that sweat,
to join again,
spend some time
in the corpuscles
of one so creative
and prolific. This
time, however, I
will get into
the mucus of
your lungs, so
that I may
stay buried in
you, an irritant
in my loving.

The water cycle,
a continuous circulation
within the Earth’s
hydrosphere, the mind’s
tug and definition
of gravity and candor
of the sun,
my fall from
grace and the
asteroid that brought
me to you.

I was waiting
for you, driven
by solar radiation
and a need
to belong, to
reach back to
the days when
you swam in
me, when I
was your mother
before your mother.
My longing includes
the atmosphere, land,
surface water, the
groundwater, the sweet
nectar of body.

As fingers moves,
as love moves,
it changes state
between liquid, solid,
gas, from compartment
to compartment, vessel
to vessel, such
as from river
to ocean, by
the physical processes
of evaporation, precipitation,
infiltration, runoff,
subsurface flow. What
is rolling beneath
me? Will I
trip myself to
the ground. Precipitation
is the falling
in any form
to earth, infiltration
is the process
of being absorbed
into the soil,
evaporation or transpiration
is either when
water is heated
and turns into
a vapor or
when plants use
the water and
give it off
as water vapor,
condensation, which is
when the water
vapor cools to
form clouds. I
could leave you.

I could come
back never. I’d
always be missing.

I could love
you. Who knows
which came first,
whether I gave
you life or
you handed me
a purpose. I
know only how
dry I feel
when you are
there, hiding inside.

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Author:

A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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