The Holy Water Cycle

 

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In code, we call our planet earth.

Indeed, that’s what I stand upon

and keep sight of, even when

in water.  I who seek the shore

for solace forget we could call

our home ocean, the larger part,

which overwhelms and mystifies.

Is gravity enough to keep

water in place? I wonder, then

marvel at the water cycle

and its sun-driven processes*

in words that roll off of my tongue: 

From any reservoir, water

evaporates and condenses,

precipitates, infiltrates,

runs off surfaces and gathers

again, molecules waving to

each other and bringing their trash

with them, baggage renewed each day.

 

Our bodies are also water

reservoirs, yet we focus on

the solid parts and overlook

our correspondence with the earth,

code name of our planet home.

Each minute we undergo it.

The water cycle. I want to

sound those two words as holy.  As

they are: Water Cycle.  Music

in my eardrums.  I hear the pulse

clearly when water’s in my ears,

when my fingers are in my ears.

This most amazing invention

of God and nature, unceasing

water cycle.  I don’t always

love it like I should when I thirst

or when my bowels want to burst—

and yet I would pledge allegiance

to it in a minute if faith allowed.

 

Faith lets me affirm holiness

and thus recognize water cycle

at the core of my belief.   God

exists. What grand design! Water

Cycle.  The words are code for life

on earth, for gills to breathe and for

seasons that transform it into art.

Nature is the first artist, first

Bible—creator of all we

long to imitate in science

and art and faith. Whew!  Talk about

survival and we talk about water.

Talk about air and we talk of

water.  Talk of dry land and talk

water.  Water Cycle.  Water

music.  Walking on water.   Prayer.

If you don’t stand up whispering

water cycle with reverence,

I have failed at this holy dance.

 

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© 2024 Susan L. Chast

A Writer's Circle Prompt.

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