C.E. Chaffin

The Sound of Life

Water peels in glassy tongues

over blue enamel ledges

of this fountain's terraces

and pools in the periphery

to be sucked up by pumps

then dance downstairs

again with gravity

The sound soothes me

like a heavy rain.

Is it because I heard

my mother's blood

rush through the umbilical cord,

or that my nomad ancestors

knew moving water

as the sound of life?

When I was a boy

and it rained

I made little boats

from walnut shells

and launched them

down the turbid gutters.

I never found them.

Water does that.

By sound

or transportation

it carries us

from one place to another

without our knowing.