Hot Spring

Well, we can depend
on the constant flow
of water out of the spigot

In these modern times
nails lined with dirt
hold nothing
together

And so few knew
cleansing could be so
bone-chilling,
the cold C
sterilizes me
still
leaving
a residue of salt
inside the deepest wounds

For hope was on the other side

The H begins at the same
temperature
If we wait
sometimes longer than others,
immersed in it,
the degree of Hope rises
from tip to tip,
from pipe to vein

Although, we all know
one drop
was never enough
to remove the stains
or replenish the well
completely
and for good

it was always our turn
of the faucet,
our choice
from which side
to draw
out from some hidden
seeming eternal source.



Artwork by Károly Patkó (1895-1941), 'Woman washing herself' c. 1931 in Public domain.

Aromatic Aura

How fast does smell travel?

Why must we try to identify the source?

What if----like light---

the colors- have not blossomed

yet in us?

The smells  seem too obscure to identify individually,

as in comparing puce or magenta and tastes of rust.

We take in the deep red rose delightfully-

We pull the yellow little weeds sourly-

Sort of sorting…

Is there a clear line where the scent drops off?

As in event horizon,

Sort of, Danny D. would offer.

And scatter or spray,

It works the same way

At the atomic level

What does it Do?

Save face.

The rock has not the same

fears.

Making sense of it,

We had to take it all in-

side.

There was no place safe

to hide from the smell

we all know too well

already.


Painting By Francisco Iturrino (Santander, Spain, 1864 - Cagnes-sur-Mer, France, 1924) Born in Santander, Spain. Dead in Cagnes-sur-Mer, France. Details of artist on Google Art Project [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Bottoms up

Have you fallen
into a book, a slump,
into bed
too deep
for another to hear your muffled voice trying to climb out?

If so, please let me know, as I have been seeking
low and high for the loose end to grab onto
falling short of finding the eminent source
of your sound-
could I be late-
are you too far
underneath to speak freely?

Well,
we all make choices,
most have moved on.
I have pulled on this rope
without end
wishing and waiting for one more
buried echo-o-o-o-o-o-o...


Painting by Georg Flegel [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.