Tag Archives: water

A Day After Snow


The air is filled
with flashes of sun,
like it broke into bits
and the wind now blows it apart,
all these separate pieces, everywhere.

Countless more flecks of sun spin
through everything, too small to see,
hidden in the depths of us,
of creation, the depths of everywhere,
everything water in every form.

We bounce around the side roads to home
over ridges of frozen slushed snow,
see our frontyard snowmen smiling:
welcome sun, above, below, within, without;
temperatures change, miracles abound.

the inefficiency of love


I stand in front of a full sink,
my leg inches from the dishwasher’s open door,
and lean over the racks to add a glass.
You are cutting a half circle behind me with a hand full
of forks and spoons, dropping water, marking our path.
We lean and wait, and wait and bow,
letting each other pass
while water sprays the coffee machine,
and coats the counter, and
dampens the bottoms of our feet.  
But then I turn
as you reach and
for less than a moment
my skin knows the warmth of yours.