Water is H2O, hydrogen two parts, oxygen one, but there is also a third thing that makes water,
and nobody knows what that is.

–D. H. Lawrence

Sunday, June 11, 2017

a place of water


There is a place you can go
where you are quiet,
a place of water and the light

on the water. Trees are there,
leaves, and the light
on leaves moved by air.

Birds, singing, move
among leaves, in leaf shadow.
After many years you have come

to no thought of these,
but they are themselves
your thoughts. There seems to be

little to say, less and less.
Here they are. Here you are.
Here as though gone.

None of us stays, but in the hush
where each leaf in the speech
of leaves is a sufficient syllable

the passing light finds out
surpassing freedom of its way.

–Wendell Berry
Sabbaths, VII, excerpt


Friday, June 9, 2017

The cure for anything is salt water - sweat, tears, or the sea. –Isak Dinesen

tears of change

tears of compassion

tears for what could not be fixed

tears of grief

onion tears

overwhelmed tears

tears of redemption

tears of remorse

Rose-Lynn Fisher
read this: the topography of tears
via Maria Popova at

Sunday, May 7, 2017

my dear


my dear,
we are all made of water.
it’s okay to rage. sometimes
it’s okay to rest. to recede.

–Sanober Khan

Wednesday, October 26, 2016

syllables of water


Beloved, let us once more praise the rain.

Let us discover some new alphabet, For this, the often praised; and be ourselves, The rain, the chickweed, and the burdock leaf, The green-white privet flower, the spotted stone, And all that welcomes the rain; the sparrow too,- Who watches with a hard eye from seclusion, Beneath the elm-tree bough, till rain is done.

There is an oriole who, upside down, Hangs at his nest, and flicks an orange wing,- Under a tree as dead and still as lead;

There is a single leaf, in all this heaven Of leaves, which rain has loosened from its twig: The stem breaks, and it falls, but it is caught Upon a sister leaf, and thus she hangs;

There is an acorn cup, beside a mushroom Which catches three drops from the stooping cloud.

The timid bee goes back to the hive; the fly Under the broad leaf of the hollyhock Perpends stupid with cold; the raindark snail Surveys the wet world from a watery stone...
And still the syllables of water whisper:
The wheel of cloud whirs slowly: while we wait In the dark room; and in your heart I find One silver raindrop,-on a hawthorn leaf,- Orion in a cobweb, and the World.

–Conrad Aiken (1889-1973)



Sunday, October 23, 2016

beloved of the rivers


Beloved of the rivers, beset
by azure water and transparent drops,
like a tree of veins your spectre
of dark goddess biting apples:
and then awakening naked
to be tattooed by the rivers,
and in the wet heights your head
filled the world with new dew.

Water rose to your waist,
You are made of wellsprings
and lakes shone on your forehead.
From your sources of density you drew
water like vital tears
and hauled the river-beds to the sand
across the planetary night,
crossing rough, dilated stone,
breaking down on the way
all the salt of geology,
cutting through forests of compact walls
dislodging the muscles of quartz.

Pablo Neruda


Saturday, October 22, 2016

Tears and Laughter


I am dotted silver threads dropped from heaven
By the gods. Nature then takes me, to adorn
Her fields and valleys.

I am beautiful pearls, plucked from the
Crown of Ishtar by the daughter of Dawn
To embellish the gardens.

When I cry the hills laugh;
When I humble myself the flowers rejoice;
When I bow, all things are elated.

The field and the cloud are lovers
And between them I am a messenger of mercy.
I quench the thirst of one;
I cure the ailment of the other.

The voice of thunder declares my arrival;
The rainbow announces my departure.

I am like earthly life, which begins at
The feet of the mad elements and ends
Under the upraised wings of death.

I emerge from the heard of the sea
Soar with the breeze. When I see a field in
Need, I descend and embrace the flowers and
The trees in a million little ways.

I touch gently at the windows with my
Soft fingers, and my announcement is a
Welcome song. All can hear, but only
The sensitive can understand.

The heat in the air gives birth to me,
But in turn I kill it,
As woman overcomes man with
The strength she takes from him.

I am the sigh of the sea;
The laughter of the field;
The tears of heaven.

So with love -
Sighs from the deep sea of affection;
Laughter from the colorful field of the spirit;
Tears from the endless heaven of memories.

–Kahlil Gibran


Friday, October 21, 2016

the Root of the Wind is Water


I think that the Root of the Wind is Water --
It would not sound so deep
Were it a Firmamental Product --
Airs no Oceans keep --

Mediterranean intonations --
To a Current's Ear --
There is a maritime conviction
In the Atmosphere --

–Emily Dickinson