Two Waters

The Service of Summer seems quick to begin.
Congregations of spearmint & blackberry once
again approach the banks of the creek as if
preparing to bathe the stones. Last lavendar
wildflowers fall apart on the shady hillsides.
One windmill perspires & the grass turns gold
blade by blade. We people make offerings of
thanks to a new well: stronger water, rustless
water. The jars on the railing are an account
of the after & before, as collected by Papa Lou
on the spring morning of the switchover,
our agua inaugural, short and sweet.