wallow in the thick waters
that made your tiny, tiny boat bob
on slimy, inky algae,
your boots not high enough, the bubbles
drop down to your socks, slobber them with
and you slosh through anyway because
there is nowhere else to go
but walk on through, walk on through
until you get to the dock where pike whisper at you,
and if you make out what they say
– it’s really not that hard –
you’ll get the drift, the shift,
you’ll walk on water.
by isabella mori
for blog action today, october 15, 2010, i post 15 water poems in 15 hours.