Dazzling Dinoflagellates

We gather when the moon is hidden

in earth shadow, stand in a group to hear facts,

take advice, don life jackets that cover our lungs,

our hearts.  We drive toward a cove at the

salt sea edge where the plankton proliferate,

persist in a small shallow bay with its twisted neck

to the sea, its reef a wall that holds them in.  These

bright, tiny organisms, single cell, simple we call them,

beckon us to witness their wonder. Under wisps

of night light we load into kayaks, follow one

dim beacon. Only paddle sounds dipping, dripping,

pulling on water.  Last light tucks under the earth,

dark descends fully, fills the space that holds us. 

The enchantment begins.  Under every boat

a lining of light, each paddle's dip is a brush

painting sparkle.  Even the fish surface

in small blue spotlights, descend exposed.

These uncountable beings dance ghostly

glimmering with every splash we make.

I sink my arm in the cool cove, skin glows

blue.  Lift lighted water in both cupped hands,

let it fall back twinkling into the bay, dots of glitter

on my fingers, my palm -- I am holding starlight.

© Marti Snell, 2016

(Snell, Martha E. “Dazzling Dinoflagellates.” Streetlight Magazine, Fall, 2016. Issue No.19, Web 16 October. http://streetlightmag.com/2016/12/09/dazzling-dinoflagellates-by-martha-snell/)

Bioluminescent Algae at Vieques Bay, Puerto Rico
courtesy of jenonajetplane.com

I Will Stay

The gully leads the land to the water table

For the water’s sake as a young man

Would lay his coat in mud for the queen

The branch flows all summer gathering

Grasses and birches skirts all billowing

Because the pastures kindly tilt this way

This farm’s eight acres inclined to the sea

Sending water down and down even after

The trees have lifted so much to the sky

All last year I built sacred fires in caves

As high as I could find but in this watershed

The fire circle goes down behind the branch

And I still don’t know how it is I got here

Or why water behaves this particular way

But some love has roped me, and I will stay.

© Bill Prindle, 2018

Sprout Creek
Photo by Julian Colton
from Wikimedia Commons

Water

Your first bath —

a midwife cleans you up.

You don't have fun.

Then come

the sprinkles of holy water in church,

the tepid water of the nursery,

the ardor of rain water,

the predatoriness of ocean water,

the ice water after you make love,

swallow fire or juggle clubs.

You drink that water in one gulp.

Motes of dust stuck to furniture,

your eyes are red,

but the tears dried up.

Left here alone for weeks on end

with waterlogged images

to ponder in thick gray clouds,

you play hide-and-seek

with memories of the March sky

in patches of meat and mustard,

with a carpet of bold spring flowers,

with a blue outline of mountains.

The fated assault of the time,

dark shadows around the eyes,

the hair unwashed and tattered,

promises written in water

form a puddle of bitter tears.

Your life is water under the bridge.

The last bath.

© Helen Kanevsky, 2018

Bridge over the South Yuba River ~ Nevada City, California
Photo by Kelly M. Grow, Calif. Dept. of Water Resources
from Wikimedia Commons 

As Water We Have Options

These stagnations that come from low water -

where once was excess, remnants lie in stillness, 

shrinking, draining, breeding stink and mischief.

Don't live there.

Live, when you can, in the ripple that holds its place

Even as the river flows fast through.

Live in the fluid rise that's elevated

By the complementary forces of

Forward motion and

Surface tension.

Stationary, stable, yet rolling and always new,

Sometimes so full it has to sing,

Sometimes so full it's bursting 

to let go its toehold and join the formless flow

on down the river.

© Laura Seale, 2017

Rippling Water
by Siru7887
from Wikimedia Commons