Bright Water

Patricia Zylius

                — after Mark Doty

 

Why love it, the clear water,

while it lies, almost still,

briefly a kind of shining on the ground,

 

silver-surfaced mirror sinking,

after a moment, into soil?

 

Last night, a flimsy fog

settled its wettishness,

                                          countless prickly droplets

 

drifting across the perked heads of lettuce,

useless, or almost useless

 

—mere misting, drip by drip,

teasing.

              But now, the gift of water

among the plants, pure abundance

among the waiting beds of greens,

                                                              cool,

 

quenching rescue . . .

 

                                          And we act

as if life were a grace that will last.

Think of it, earth’s clean water.

How long will it flow?