The Spring

We come here with our ghost children to escape summer heat,
Meeting in a cave of trees herding their heads,
Huddled above the lime rocks.

Walks of step-stones meet in agreement.
From the hill wall a spring issues an invitation to the eyes.

We see that water pours forth,
Acopius rain upon vegetation, from the source:
Poetry,
Song,
A little singing river,
Gracious giver of fountains,
A gift brook alive with the marriage of hydrogen and oxygen,

New creation,
New life, forever flowing,
Forever long and longing for the Father of Waters,
Liquidly revived, a daughter of his laughter,

A jewel of its universe,
Quietly disbursed, dispersed into a pool of the most profound solicitude,

A cistern of sustenance to which all souls yearn
To be born,
To return,
The origin of a love so fierce it is cruel,
Though we are fooled, for the surface is restrained,
Cool in its demeanor.

We are minded, reminded of our own
Turning, tumbling, water fetus days,
Happy rolling ammonite ecstasies,
Oceans to live and drink.

We think we were never so happy as then
And now,
Like snow from mountains,
Like blue water to the spirit,

That, and this spring-brook which dibbles and dabbles,
Filling the laver, lower pool, with refreshment,
Safe from the sibilant sun smoking outside the grove.

This is our cove, our cozy waterfall,
Soft moss-haven.

Our recollected contentment rises high above our heads,
Reaching toward heaven,
Sighs to be seized, released, messenger balloons,

Sea bottles of green fernery, finery,
Poured and stored in this wet rockery.

(May 25, 1988)