The Well of Stories

Come to the well of stories
Let your bucket down
Drawing up and out its weight
Refreshment will be found
Thirst is quenched
Drink is shared
The weary begin to flower
For in the garden where toil is known
There comes the harvest hour

Delay

Is the landscape of a marsh—
Life collected in a seemingly stagnate pool
A slow purification of the run-off of time
Bogged down by the moss of life
A floating reality, quite uprooted

Suitcases

Each contain a folded story
Carried on the back
Or as a wheeled dolly
Loaded with the routine
Baggage of life in an attempt
To make it lighter—
Latched or zipped or buckled
Contents hidden from site

At The Airport

People gather—
A flock of geese
Settled down
Into a lake of waiting
Then all together
They become airborne
Riding the instinct
Of migration

Memory

Pinning the butterfly down
Means the butterfly will never fly
What I need is a net