he wants me to bottle the ocean
fill a calabash
and pack it in a suitcase
fly liquid
3000 miles
to their dusty December
so dry
they’re willing
to try
woo woo
ancient sacred

my father’s request
is minimal
it’s the drops that count
but I cannot measure
from my cliff side perch
what sloshes out
before me
in infinite
buckets of sea

Dad, if I could box it
send the whole ocean
to seep and soak the land
in one steady
I would
I know
your living
depends on weather
(though this is true for us all)

on this island
‘wettest spot on earth’
showers sprinkle
as afterthoughts
off-handed gestures
that come
then go
so often
even locals
begin to complain
and wish for sunny weather

but this morning
I sidestep puddles
and remember
look out to
fluid fathoms
a horizon line
that’s met
with rains
far out at sea

falling from cotton clouds
stretched thin
billowing white chiffon
of drifting droplets
the rising sun
dances in prisms
a pillar of color
vertical to the sky
a rainbow
hologram of hues
waving in the winds

there are measureless multitudes
so many many
pouring down
the spectrum
red to violet
a vibrant promise
to my prayer

photo courtesy of brunosan
photo courtesy of brunosan

5 thoughts on “Bottling the Ocean

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