Bottled Water


Words come alive
passing from moist lips to any ear who hears
a kiss of thoughts

I died in 1993
and rose again a moment after
water cold
cleansed words scoured inside
rose like rivers in spring
and flooded
anyone who asked for directions
like miniature prophets
who hand out bottled water
on Florida streets in July

July is the anniversary of my death…

a pastor
a prophet
a homeless man

they really were three men
who looked like one in motion
pulling over at the bus stations in an old Ford pickup truck

the thirsty drank
and some died… the way I died
and words came to life
like this poet’s.


4 thoughts on “Bottled Water

  1. I love how you capture your story in poetry. It makes me want to know more- and yet I’m entirely satisfied with the complete feeling of your piece. Strong, powerful images evoke a strong response. Wonderful work!

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