I am the voice of water
I wash all things clean
I speak with the mouth of storm
I am the rain that you pray for
you can poison me
and I will purify myself
you are pissing in your own bed
I will leave you
and flow to the lower places
to survive this droughted time
fools who think they know have poured arsenic into the well
while their own daughters are lifting out the bucket to drink
I am weeping, far away
mixing myself with shades of earth
azurite and malachite
like the champagne bottle broken on the prow of the ship
I am the blessing on the door to the temple
the woad that awakens the serpents
just before you go into battle
I will die knowing my name
nothing can stop me from singing
I celebrate the beauty of this holy place
in the middle of the trash heap
where that old warrior’s horse hair banner still flies
I will meet you there
and we will go then
to feed the grass