When you see it in its gush or settle
your mind starts to empty and fill.
A provenance in an ancient city
of aquifer or well, tile aqueducts
to fountains of unending purpose
and sustenance. Beyond the walls
there is a stream, a river and falls,
coursing. By itself, watercourse
speaks of an eternal freedom.
From channels of constricted
turbulence and power, forever
unbound in the nature of surf.
Still in the morning, lake or bay,
a little mist rising or falling.
When you cannot sleep, a droplet
filled with light, alone in midair.
|Copyright © 1999-2017 Juked|