Your water dragon

.           has delivered   its liquid

haul,     fluid and warm

against a stark white set–

the dusky cemetery

.                  a perfect backdrop, shrouded

.                  in mist–

Thanks, Mr. President.

___________________________________________________________________

1.24.12

Our waters are strong

our shores ready for jobs

we pledge to open our waters

for more drilling,

.     more spoilage,

.     more fire,

.     more chemical dumping–

we pledge to make

Sunoco and Exxon,

BP and Shell,

Halliburton and Chevron

more profitable, to put America

back to work.

Our strong waters are open

to the drill.  We stand,

feet firm on these stolen soils,

and proclaim, we are bigger

than the ocean–

Here are the newest water poems:

1.17.12

Each day, my twitter feed

lists dramatic weather, pleas for

snow, concern about our

lack of winter.

Each day, I look out the window

to analyse cloud formations.

Each day, the sky yields

disappointing results.  Water

is moving in a different direction.

Drip. drip. drip

of rain or sleet

crossing this boundary,

lakes open to the clouds above.

1.18.12

a wash    a shore    a drift

and this settling

rough seas ahead       see the waves

off in the distance?      Thisness

called tidal pool

tribal remembrance of what

echo on land             pulse of the planet

plants speaking     deep under

reef and ledge–

1.19.12

here,     and here,     she

.               said pointing

to the spots where we would

apply drops of luminous water–

a clear glass filled,

map charted — first, California

and Colorado, Arizona and Nevada,

the snaking pipelines emptying–

Your last drop of water

might appear as a snowflake

or morning dew on a leaf in the garden,

we just don’t know what

this will look like, he said –

what waters’ rise will

teach, we here learning how

to build bridges, roads,

and houses –

an exhale and the hum

of the unforeseen –

1.20.12

Ocean just warm enough

.                  clouds catch   dump  drown

the small towns underneath

rainfall exceeding records not by decimals

.                   but by double digits

sand on fields that used

to feed hundreds

acres bare,

waiting–

Our human estimates conservative

.         this agenda radical

have more fun being

.         aggressively naive–

we just don’t know, he shook

his head, voice softening–

1.21.12

how the snow–

how nothing happened –  just

a spin, slight fan, ice melting

down the back –

how the dishes in the sink –

how hot-headed, I –   just

loud enough to be

heard in the bedroom –

how the ordinary afternoon –

how ice and shovel –    just

then they emerged,

offered hellos and quips about

the plowman’s precision,

garden unscathed –

1.22.12

I was just thinking how I always needed

an ocean grandmother to hear my stories –

I looked in my cupboard and found it

wanting — no sea salt, no foam, no striped

stones for wishing –

I was just thinking that I needed

this roar,      this deep silence,

but I couldn’t ask her for it, could I?

I have been thinking that all I needed

were a few sand dollars, a stone in the shape

of a heart, and the surf lapping

at my winter boots –

it was this, tonight, this sunset,

the eider ducks bobbing with the waves,

that reminded me that all I needed

was –

water, kettle on, hot water, tea

soak beans, mix yeast and water, wait

wash hands, rinse dishes

tea, shower, flush toilet, wash hands

fill kettle, wash dishes

clean counter, wash sink, fill sink

soak mushroom bag, water dripping, drain sink

heat kettle, make tea, drink water

mist rosemary,  boil beans

drink water, heat kettle, make tea

wash hands, drink more water

rinse mushrooms, wash dishes

condensation on the window glass

soak pots, wash hands

heat kettle, drink water, wash pan

wash face, wash hands, brush teeth

refill cat dish, flush toilet

wash hands

Sea gulls huddle on icy shores

during low tide, pearls

in the sandy flats—-

ice rafts float

at high tide, the bay

frozen at the edges

in today’s single digits—-

we sing songs to water

and ask for forgiveness—-

Sun glints across

convergence of snow and rain,

ice coating head stones,

creating brilliant pools

of light.  “I will wake the dead

with my walking,” she said.

Crust skitters across smooth

dips, traveling from her feet.

parking ban

ice covered

snow walk

up hill

water pools

ice rink

small city

wind abates

down hill

moon shining

clear dark

snow glitter

perfect sledding

Just add water and stir.

You will be tranformed into

a venture capitalist who

believes that corporations are

people, who has made millions

laying off workers who were not

performing to your high expectations.

The ingredients of this mix are

proprietary, but you, too, could

invent your own formula.

Just add water, stir.

You are transported to a large

northeastern state where if you work

hard enough, you can leave your

impoverished roots behind in favor

of becoming the head of a corporation,

and, later, the state itself.  All it takes is

a little theft, a little patronage.

This package contains the American Dream,

high fructose corn syrup, polyunsaturated

lard, and confectioners’ sugar.  Just heat

to an overflowing boil and serve.

Today, divers searched the icy Kennebec River

for a missing toddler.  “You never know what you will

find there,” said a man involved in the diving operation.

“I have seen all kinds of things.”

Grief lies just under the surface,        the story familiar,

yet we are continually shocked into daze

by news reports, in-depth interviews, pleas,

and search missions.  We can predict the ending

without even watching news at six.  Someone

will be implicated, someone will be lost.

An empty searching hollows through ice floats,

calls us to pay attention,          only to forget

when the next report overshadows today’s grim news.

The windows shrouded in condensation,

soup cooking for hours.  Later,

water pools on the sills, mold

forms black networks along the edges.

We breathe in and out,

examining the growth.