W-A-T-E-R

We are at the well.

I am spelling myself out

to you in our

conjoined hands.

It’s simple,

but what’s veiled

resists vocabulary.

Our hands are wet,

damp with nouns;

ripe words made of juice.

I am urgency

jacking the pump

as if to fill a flat
convinced that

air and water

will bring us

both to life.

We are in the dream.

There is no 

mine or yours.

Finally, we are 

without possessions.

I pump the water

ferociously

through both our hands.

We make our clumsy cup

a holy vessel.

Dream water

sparkles in the sun

though it arises

from dark depths.

We are made of 

and for

each other.

This is where we 

marry the world,

reconnect our

thirst with the clouds

and begin

to wake.

Peter Valentyne

March 10th, 2019

Santorini

We met

at the top

of a

chalky white

tower.

Your lithe

tan body

full of

the life

ahead.

You tied

a bag

of black

umbrellas

to my bike.

I was

going to

have to

make the

next boat

as it

looked like

rain.

I followed

you 

into a

celebration

full of

vivid

colors.

We lay

down

on the

ground

to watch

something

small

crawl away.

Then

I

woke

to 

a morning

full of rain.

Peter Valentyne

March 10th, 2019