After the Flood

Here is an example of how my dad’s artwork–in this case a watercolor–transforms my poetry into something magical. It isn’t that the poem is awful; it’s just that it has rather obvious rhymes. Actually, it’s a song and needs music, in addition to the painting. I’ll have to work on the music bit.

The star tree spreads its branches over fish,
whose dreams are difficult to catch with bait,
or webs and pennies tossed out on a wish
that slip from human hands to heaven’s gate.

Bow down the branches, shake the starry fruits;
the fish will pause and rise to taste the air.
Lean in the water, grasping at the roots,
then bait your bucket with a song and prayer.

The fish you catch will disappear from sight;
the river’s own will snatch your music’s cheer,
then fill your dreams with bucketfuls of night,
of stars and fish lost in the atmosphere.

Then bait your bucket with a song and prayer,
of stars and fish lost in the atmosphere,
that slip from human hands to heaven’s gate,
that slip from human hands to heaven’s gate.

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