A glass of tea sweats a circle of droplets on an old table
Drying, they pull dirt and stain from the wood, leaving a ring
Water makes its mark

Deep in the earth, in a cave, a drop falls each minute
Where it lands, a great pillar of white rock has grown up
Water makes its mark

On the surface above, a stream burbles and flows
carving out potholes in the granite of its bed
Water makes its mark

Along a highway cut, a geologist points out the layers of tan slate
each penny-thin sheet,
the memory of a torrential rainstorm eons ago
Water makes its mark

In its network of veins, the blood—
salty like the sea water from which we sprang
flows on in cycles, giving life
Water makes its mark

The dark clouds pass on, yielding no rain
Crops wither, and drought comes
Famine, migration, violence, and death soon follow
Water makes its mark

A space probe turns its camera toward whence it came
Imaging one solitary pixel of light
Its color the pale blue of oceans
Water makes its mark

A solitary tear slides down the cheek
A tear of abiding joy,
a tear of unending grief
We see, and share the depth of feeling at its true core
Water makes its mark