Aqua Mole

Agua Mole  (Aqua mo lly) Brasil

Story of soft water, hard stone;
tears cannot carve soft channels
through my hardened heart pumping
as strong as each step forward
or else I am lost in the purest waterfall,
and here I am, made ugly:

Resolve is tortured by the drip drip drip
of your adoration and your resolve,
to be with her until the end,
making me, the soft water woman of your life,
metal again.

I will not bend, nor will I be the tree
standing sentinel, unseen in the mid-summer wood,
a simple place for the two of us, our dream;
the land I named Yours, Your Daughter,
and you named Agua Mole, Soft Water.

You cleared space, for the house, the bed,
the wood burning stove.
You cleared space, you said, alone,
nursing the doctor with therapy gardens of herbs,
catching me a deer between the trees,
a jagua; a monkey; not there
to see her hand in everything
I could not touch; I could not sleep; I could not light.

*

I fired the rifle once to hit the bullet hole in your tree,
I fired it twice, sure shot, 500 yards to bullseye.
It is the mark of how you wounded me.

I was the flowing water from the mountain
and so to be rock is hard when broken.
Dust and tears would glue me to misery,
to you, who chooses death's company
when I chose Life and Motion
waking the ridiculous notion
that together, side by side, was love's possibility.

I am black, white, clear and free.
Ruthless singularity hurts; to bottle,
spill, or save, the soft water that is me.





Oct23/08