small stone 4 – water

i tried desperately to collect what i could in all my mixing bowls and pans, opened
the bathtub faucet and watched the stream weaken while the water outside
from the busted pipe bubbled up under the frontyard grass and lapped a course
down the driveway into the street. flowing away from my house, from the bathtub,
from all my efforts to contain it, from me.

small stone 1 – returning

returning

i am so thankful
for your open door, although i insisted
getting in through the window.

i am sorry
it is broken; sorry
i fell through clumsily only to find you
waiting inside so porcelain
and calm; holding out to me
a warm cup of tea.

i am sorry i still believe
that a stubborn December
can wind us down, that i am not faithful
in the firm foundation that has held
up all these years.

oh, and i thank you
for the tea.

on my latest journey
i did not pick
anything out for you –
there was nothing
worth carrying home.