To the reader

Some thoughts, I cannot keep.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

The Well

More centered than marrow in my body,
is a well for you.
There is a deep blue, like layered pieces of glass,
and your reflection shivers
and shifts below,
quick as a silver fish.

I am deep. I am cold,
a draught for your thirst.
When you drink of me, I become more full.
You may draw up the cup
again and again,
I will never leave it empty.

Can water sing? In my mouth
is the sound of stones
descending. Your presence ripples my soul,
and I expand beyond
my own container.

You have carved your own place, and it is a well.

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