June. A time of fanciful
Cloud dances, falsely led,
A time of waiting for desert
To be besieged by Monsoon liberties.

Water is a gift to beleaguered folk
Of arid climes. Longed for,
Looked for, prayed for, and,
Panted for…

My daughter had scraped a small lake
In the same spot I had created a world,
A few years ago. But, the angles
Of saturation have changed, slopes
Aren’t as steep, will, not as strong,
And run-off is a problem.

I set the sprinkler to straight up, circular.
It hits a cut-off bough in the tree above,
And, falls back to earth with purpose.
I knew where to position the sprinkler,
In this case, to fill Little Lake. Big Lake
Is being pounded by life-giving water,
Little Lake’s surface is hit only by
Peripheral droplets.

Little Lake is a bit clogged by
Entrapped leaves and sludgy flow.
Little Lake needs dynamism, it needs
Wind and bugs, and, even, roe…

In a touch of irony,
The leaves directly above
My applications of water are lush,
Green and huge. All others
Are not.

Did I mention
It’s been a dry season,
This year, in the desert?

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
Photo by Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 6/10/06

The original 'lake' can be seen at http://authorsden.com/visit/viewpoetry.asp?AuthorID=11155&id=110233 in the poem entitled 'Shallow Me Not'.

The original description of the lake can be read at http://authorsden.com/visit/viewpoetry.asp?id=111219, the title, 'Oblivion, In The Morning'.