
trickling over eyelids and working under fingernails to the beds
it isn't necessary to be immersed in water to be cleansed
the sky water catching with St. Elmo's fire on the wings of planes
flightless land mammals tasting clouds and gin
with paper napkins folded into hats and worn only once
as the disappointing acid rain pools on the flat roofs of pubs
on the out flung skirts of council estates.
And I drink of that water and wonder how cities feel
with their natural showers and unnatural plumbing infrastructure.
Do those pubs know that they are like sharks' eyes?
Does the water in those taps remember mountains
or caves and transparent fish with eyes like lamps but lacking electricity?
I don't think they do, those pubs and taps.
They only know domesticated water.

“Questions I Have About Water” was printed in Salem Cemetery, No. 6 of Inwood Indiana. Pick up the paperback from Prolific Press; the stories and poems published online are free to read here.
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