The Well by John Dowell

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
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.
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