Yesterday morning I distributed more than six gallons of water using my favorite one-quart child’s watering can, visiting each plant in the garden with a miniature rain shower, sans vocalizations. I might have thundered, but the can does not make that kind of rain. Its gentle blue drops are more like single notes plucked ever so lightly on a banjo — lightly, as in, composed of light as much as water — and composed, as by celestial heart and hand.
May 7, 2019
When Water Falls On a Stone
When water falls
on a stone,
it makes a hole
in the stone,
and the stone
it makes a hole in says,
thank you,
love,
and when the hole
is full,
the water
overflows.
Recently Banned Literature, August 12, 2016
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Categories: Everything and Nothing, New Poems & Pieces, Recently Banned Literature
Tags: Banjos, Cool Water, Diaries, Journals, Love, Poems, Poetry, Stones