Bodies of Water

I trace the river’s run
like creases in the palms of my hand
how long will this lifeline last?

we have been long sleeping
only to awaken now
as the west burns and the waters rise
nearly gone, but not quite yet

I yearn to free their flow
a thousand dams crashing down
to flood parched arteries
so that the ocean may offer nutrients
plump salmon bodies
into the green-forest centre once more

when did you forget? (I did too)
where did they expect to make a home
after all that sustains us is pillaged beyond repair?

She whispers to me in waves
across glittering still-alive lakes
on the wind that kisses the field of Goldenrod
nearly gone, but not quite yet

what if we aren’t the lost generation
of quick-fire disaster
made by corporation that harangued itself
the same rights as someone with a real, alive breath

what if She has been shaping us —
even as the chainsaw and miner’s drill
reshape Her t’wards the lifeless plane

I hear the call of an Earth on fire —
the west is burning, the water is rising
so I am rising too
She tells me to carry
my tiny body of water
to quench whatever scrap of soil
my bare feet may find

I know my offering will not be enough
but a billion, maybe more?
bring your bodies of water, your medicine songs
the bucket brigade has begun

you may dam a river
bind its course
locked in still-state, death-course jails of blasted rock and concrete
but you cannot crush the ocean
of Us

crash then,
breaking ceaseless waves upon the shore

there is hardly a substance on this green Earth
man-, or more-than made
that can stand against the grace of water
and the way it carves a path home for us all

how did you forget?
more importantly, how will you remember?