The geese-traversed frozen lake

like a black and white Jackson Pollack,

arbitrary crisp prints on ice, thawing to smudged lines,

early spring dissolving winter art to water supply,

reminds me that the nutritive capacity to replenish all cells,

mine included, buoys these geese all summer,

touches all things local,

is seasoned by all it touches,

all that dies in its’ bed come fall.

The geese become me,

and all things are full of the lake god.

Can we dispute the natural philosophy

that water is the originating principle?


Can we pretend however, be so self-centered,

as to believe that our version is the one,

the lubricant of the universe,

the Zen-like moisture of all?

Millions of stars and billions of miles between them

create infinite possibilities.

What of the planet covered with grape juice like oceans,

their plumbing pumping purple staple

and lilac skinned thinkers

smelling of fichus and eucalyptus

sit and ponder the mauve wet as the maker,

perhaps they are even Pre-Socratic,

possibly one is a Thales.

3 replies on “Presocratic”


This poem is more than thought provoking; it is exciting. It is adventurous
and accepting. And yes, it is thought provoking.

All grand but my favorite: “is seasoned by all it touches,”

True of water and everything on this planet, especially people.

Love it!



what indeed if all the wet needed to generate what we call life is not water but a colloidal gel of who knows what. Lilac thinkers and blue composers….the possibilities are endless….how wonderful.
enjoyed this read and the thoughts provoked.


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