Water is the first of philosophers, traveling
Through one vessel to another, recreating
Itself in the form of man. And one man upon another
In the game of checkers, or that of Simon,
Wherein we copy and heed that word, expelled
From the mouth of a confident boy, learning to trust
Itself for the first time; It is peculiar how powerful
An impression is. How captivating. And fire is
The lord of the impressionists. As droplets, dewly small
Dance on the plate in dazzling ferocity.
Is it like this that we learn, and can virtue be taught?
The pearl of rain, torpid, turbid, spherical
Learns to blow like fire, the breath of life,
That which forms a lineage of waters, and
Husbandry trees may be drawn to trace each
Fiery haze, or those warm scourges that, in water
Trespass waters forbidden. And in those marching
Flags, one is taught by another —
Heedless, and lost, but found in themselves.
And so, water is the basis of all things.

[This poem will be featured in my upcoming novel, A Fortnight by the Sea of Aegeus.]
Gumbet,
September, 2023.