The Envoys of Utah

(For Hannes, who will never read this, never understand)

To empty the water tables,
To empty the water under
The land, to empty the rivers

That surface on land,
To empty the hot springs
From deep in cool canyons,

Are tasks we either refuse
Or repeat, endlessly repeat.
I repeat: my vote is refuse.

Three time these three lines
The old poet, unneeded, intoned.
The waters were emptied,

From the wells, from the rivers,
From the springs, from the deep.
And then, so it goes, they ran dry.

Or they did not. We don't know
Yet, and, when we do know,
Whoever knows won't be us.

The clay records this faithfully.
The clay records the floods
Each year. We drink, we do so, thirstily,

Mouths down into whatever waters rise
Enough above the mud to slurp,
Tastefully, or, at least, gratefully.

Do not judge. Do not
Judge us as we have judged. Only
Time itself deposits, well, what, blood?