I used to think water
was only water. Now I think

this ever-morphing molecule,
this rain falling today,

blown here from the Amazon,
or a polar bear’s shaken fur,

or Mt. Fuji’s morning mist,
is the very soul of the Earth,

forever flowing somewhere
below us, above us, within us.

Its presence means everything,
its absence, nothingness.

Everywhere on Earth
roots reach for it under ground,

green leaves yearn
for its touch,

and we search for it
on Mars and beyond.

O holy orbs of water,
where were you yesterday

or all those yesterdays?
After rising to heaven

from the Snake River
one day in 1847

did you drop down on
Chief Seattle’s shoulder?

To think of all the prayers
you’ve answered,

the relief you’ve given
to the dry mouths of the dying,

all the children you’ve blessed,
wounds you’ve cleansed,

spirits refreshed;
and how lightly you rise

from wherever you’ve been
before resting here on my hand

where you will rise again
into the circling air.