Water Sonnets

xxxxxxxGreat Salt Lake Basin

No fish here, but like unreadable penmanship,
the gulls’ feathered bodies slant from gray
compacted sand. Perhaps they grew tired
on some long transit. Led nowhere, they collapsed.
Small white ridges rise from the water’s flat
undrinkable, arsenic shine. In the short time
I’ve lived here, the waters have grown
more shallow, the shore a half-mile deeper.
Black sand crisps into hard flat chips that need
my touch to remember how to crumble.
Every year, you must go increasingly farther
to touch water. I take the faster route home
biking on the frontage road for 15 miles past
fulfillment centers for Amazon and 1-800 Contacts.

xxxxxxStormy Lake

Little of this city makes sense but the cold
that leaves my hands touching the train
with the weight of wet hair. Doors unfold
to Act 1, Scene 1. Open to wind and rain.
A tempestuous noise as Gold Medal Flour
streaks the river; cars blister from the long
precursive rain. Now peace rests in power.
And you and you and you and you are gone.
And this: the negative entropy equation—
a shining, spontaneous ordering, you used
to explain how little of consolation
is love. Christ, we’re near the scenic views.
And now, as a last favor, you must pick one:
Hello, the flour. Farewell, the details to come.