Once, I spent a summer vacation
building a siphon that brought
a bucket of water
from the kitchen landing down
stairs and past the ivy wall
my grandfather would trim,
across the narrow drive and once again down
the hill I would roll upon
until reaching the apple trees,
laden and raining their green gravel.
From there, captivated by the wonder
of my project and the goodness of gravity,
I looked back and saw
the black-eyed Susans.
Brilliant, orange-yellow, observant,
they noticed and they danced
for that curious kid who was amazed
that she could move water.
Kimberly M. King