| The Instance of Water Some water travels underground, in rivers that flow for miles Sometimes only a few feet underground Then re-surface as a series of ponds, Or a stretch of stream that disappears in a marsh or lake. Flowing through limestone, water hollows, the ground above Collapses, the caverns creating new lakes. Dye has been released in some to determine The extent of passageways: Red swirls vanish, then with schools of bream And goatfish, surface miles later in another lake: Divers try to follow, every summer, those threads; Reports of someone lost, the silt stirred, The cave narrowing until there is no room To turn, air-tanks empty and narcosis settles. Schools of fish splinter into light in the clear water. Walking across such a terrain, The ground turns soft, brush turns to marsh weeds A blister, where water forms a bubble And osmotically seeps into light: Is this how it all began, someone walking, Then disappearing into the ground, swept Into an unknown river, carried off As though on a white bull's back to sea, garlands Of flowers left in the wake, washed ashore. Or in another place, at a ledge, over a lake That divers say has no bottom, but find volcanic shelving Where gold cups and headbands rest In the silt, hearts then bodies were thrown And must have drifted weighted endlessly downwards: Leaving the city in retreat. The horsemen and armored footmen Were so weighted with gold They floundered in rivers and canals radiating From the city, and drownedswept, too, Away, with the sacrificed whose souls By then were the swarms of hummingbirds Above Tenochtitlán, as their hearts must still be Drifting toward a molten center. While walking, if water is flowing close Underground, why haven't I heard it, Or will I only when it is too late, the sound coming As if from a distant waterfall, Even as I am pulled in, swallowed alive, As though by shark, serpent, or crocodile This is how it could have started, A story about one disappearing into the mouth Of the earth or sea or skyand hearing the shouts, Some might turn and watch, only later Thinking that I might have been pulled Free, but stood and watched, as though To prepare for the beginning of guilt, The denial that such things could happen, To place the blame elsewhere, the invention of gods. Or is the whisper of water underground That of the gods, their only warning, heard Like a breath at night on my neck, while a hawk circled With no prey in sight, the land below Stretching dry and soulless below it. The instance of water, beading up, A garland of lakes, beyond the curve of its eye. This would be the world waiting, The dry caves without drawings, empty salt-pans, The rain knotted in the sky, invisible, for a moment At the beginning everything absolutely still. The Language Exchange The Campbell Corner Home Page |