Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Imagine a Creek



Pea gravel bottom,
water the colour of well brewed tea,
steep grassy banks, six feet high
dark green grass, lush, long
tendrils
combed by the currents.

It is raining.
It is always raining here.

The clay soil is immune to the rain.
The grass a rain coat.

No matter how hard it rains.
The creek remains clear.

The clay is dense, oily.

The clay doesn't give a fuck
about the rain.

Some potter tried to dig some up.
The shovel bent
The pickaxe penetrated but
the clay grasped the tool
so tightly that the potter
had to leave it behind.

Irretrievable,
rust claimed the pickaxe.

Ever expanding circles
blur the water.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Hello with joy that live with God and in his hands safe and care and he will give so what our hearts desire in love and in to be glory for him in Jeus name and be thankful for his wondeful blessing and the bible wisdom with us ,thanks bless,keijo sweden