One Clear Moment in August

When I let the long snake
of water in the garden hose
out into the garden, sun
sparkled along its sleek length.
How it split, multiplied, flashed
down the rows of ripe corn—
like desire that ripples
among beautiful women,
or some promise that threads
the dreams of sleepers, linking
scattered towns. So the water
snake touched onion greens
and pepper stalks, carrot-leaf
sprays, thick bursts of broccoli,
muttering to the roots: Here I am,
as always, to give you strength.
There is nothing to fear.
This kiss is forever.