Water is rising

when they offered me the house on the lake

I thought I had no use for it-

the house doesn’t belong to anyone

I told them

just like the light that rushes

over the reeds of the lake

or the minute particles in the air

however, I said

I would be happy to stay

for a little while

-------

one of the girls from the sunny cabin

tucked away around the bend

has been teaching me how to breathe

so that now when I take a breath

I hear the cracking and groaning

of wooden beams

and scaffoldings that I can’t see

but I know are there

and every night, whenever I yawn

the lake water rushes up into the house

through a drain in the basement

for a moment or two

before receding again

---------

I take my deepest breaths

in the early morning

sitting at the end of the pier

smelling my mother’s perfume in the air

though she is far from here

and she has never worn perfume

I remember my mother best for her laugh

which I have regrettably inherited

(it has always been her laugh,

never mine)

but I let it out from time to time

and now when I laugh

the lake laughs too

------------

late afternoons the storm rolls in

bringing with it yellow clouds

full of lightning

and hail that never falls

it is always the same storm

I’ve taken to calling him John

and eagerly await his presence

as I sit in the attic office

remaining there sometimes til dawn

organizing my thoughts into color-coded folders

determined to finally have everything

in the proper order

------------

after a year passed

I concluded my business there

with heartfelt thanks to the rain

which fell in sheets

onto the tin roofs

and darkened windows

of my bygone shelter-

and when they call

to ask why I left

I can only say that I still dream

of houses on the lake

and storms named John

and I practice my breathing

in sunlit places

assured that somewhere close by

water is rising