We need not look for water,
It finds us,
Settles in the ruts,
The rims of dishes,
The hollows of our bodies.
 
Even on dry nights
You can hear it rushing
Like blood through your ears.
 
You've no need for diviners,
Rain stones and twin forks,
The useless tools of memory.
 
You still know loss, as familiar
As the moan of the the porch door,
The sky before a storm,
The crash of pots in the kitchen.
 
Your sister's voice bounces
Off the house, echoes still
Across puddles, and even you
 
Remember your mother once
Dived, laughing, into the river
Fully-clothed, the film of her dress
Floating like orchids around her.
 
But you forget the timbre
Of your father's voice,
The cadence of his footfall,
Wet on the stairs.
 
Or that when the river swelled,
Filling the yard,
No matter how hard you looked
You found only boots, a busted radio,
Voiceless and sullen.