Elegy in Limestone
|If the water, everywhere, and if she|
is. If ghosts, like water, like if all
rivers and oceans and rains are one
ghost, surrounding and throughout.
If she is, like if the lakes and bays
of Seattle define Seattle, if the ices
Of Mars and Massachusetts,
hidden in their deep stones, define
Mars and Massachusetts; if she is.
A thirst unmet, alkaline or saline,
the water not touching that thirst,
if my thirst wants something else
entirely. If she is. Water, if it is in
and is blood. If invisible until
exhale. If science lies and water
doesn’t reflect sky but sky this
water. If she is the sound, if it isn’t
essential until its lack. If she is
the sound of. Waves. If in the body,
the dew in morning, and the moon.
If she is the sound of the water.
If rising, if breaking, if throughout.
Everyone of us is made of water, and flesh.
We are all born of woman.
In a way, we are all one flesh.
The older I get, the more I begin to understand the meaning behind the Golden Rule, the laws of Karma, the teachings of sages and prophets, the scripture that what is done to the least is done to all.