I. I devoured your words too fast. I fell long into the well of your passion. The water was lighter than air and sweeter than a first kiss. The water was dark and heavy as a year alone and alone. It was the bright end and close beginning. I see it opening and opening, traveling the fallopian tubes of desire. The water was breath and it was nothing
II. Come to the well with a bucket and early. Come with liver spotted hands, with grief and crumbled bridges. Come with bills and grubby fingered babies on your hips. Come when you’ve closed all the doors friends have opened. When you’re drunk on the wine of obsession and worry. With your suitcases packed full of failing. When it seems you’ve traveled too far and left too much behind to return. When the muddy field of battle is frozen under your numb feet. Come then. We’ll get down on our knees and dig in the earth. We’ll plant our seeds in the fecund soil of longing. I will be here. Come when you can. The water flows beyond all horizons.