You don’t know what I know, so I’ll tell you.
I don’t know what you know, so please tell me.
I don’t know much really. Only how through
caressing rocks, mountain waters gently
sing, then rage in storms, only to sing once
more in sun. How water on my scarred tongue
tastes like nothing else on earth. Your presence
soothes me like water bathing wounds. When young,
I’d dive into pools as you do now. Arms
curl through water’s resistance, muscles bask
in water’s caress. Your mute, gazing charms
let me know you do this. One day I’ll ask
you how you know. How humans can forget
water and real life. I’ll ask. But not yet.
Roger Armbrust
August 17, 2014
