Water

1

Water in a poem.  Water on a sunny day penetrating cells in a combination of atoms in the array of organisms on the shore of a small pond: water in plants, in frogs, in fish, in the eyes of a young girl who trips on a root and falls into a puddle.  Water in a pond, near a house, among tall grass that mingles in the wind, along with the melody of water, dropping.  Water as tears from the sky.  Water swaying in a dance that only Susan and her younger brother Ian can understand, along with the happiness that comes with the lack of adults, the lack of older age, so that they may laugh at the water that meets their faces and drips from their eyelashes, through their clothes and onto the dirt, forming rainbows of mud, and different shapes formed by the lines that meet in angles after they run through mud and jump into the pond; into the water.

2

Water in the formula of rain ceases to fall. This form of water leaves Susan and Ian, who take the silence of the penetration of mud by water as a promise that it will come back someday, maybe tomorrow, maybe Tuesday, maybe the second after…now.  Susan and Ian run to the beach, leaving behind trails of water, on the sand.  Water is near Susan and Ian, as they make sand castles on the beach, as bolts of lightning stretch across the sky; not like arrows, but more like rays of light that come from a distant galaxy, some place that their parents will never know because they are too concerned with things like taxes, and finding socks that seem to be lost in the back of the dryer; gone to some other planet where it doesn’t matter if brown matches with pink (socks, among other things).  Water falls over them, as they swim, in the form of waves, with white crests and deep tides that don’t take them under because of their innocence. 

3

Water acts as a guardian angel, to Susan and Ian, falling like blankets over this planet, over the galaxy, throughout the universe, to the deep confines of minds: yours and mine.