What The Water Knows

Does the water know

it sparkles in the sun?

Do those hard grey stones bruise as the rapids rush by?

Cold in the deep,

warm in the shallows–

is the heavy depth of stillness

quiet like sleep?

Such a long journey from bubbling spring

to vast ocean

must be tiring.

(See the spines of the fish, rainbow treasures of scales sloughed off

as a gift in the water.)

What tree’s deep roots reach into the muddy

creek bottom–

pulling molecules of water from beneath the surface to the top, green leaves glistening…

The water’s voice–shall it rise in anger over the sharp edges of the rock ledge,

pooling down below–

dwindle to a murmur

past the pebbles of the shore’s edge,

lapping against the canoe

laid to rest on the sand

as we picnic in the sun, by the sparkling, oblivious water.