I study your sleeping form / at the bottom of the pool / like a house I could return to,
like a head to be cradled in the arms. / Unless you are asleep I cannot make my way / across the night / and through my isolation.
I study your sleeping form / at the bottom of the pool / like a house I could return to,
like a head to be cradled in the arms. / Unless you are asleep I cannot make my way / across the night / and through my isolation.
“
The Lord was drinking some water out of a glass. There was nothing wrong with the glass, but the water tasted terrible.
This was in a white building on a vast wasteland. The engineers within wore white uniforms and booties on their shoes and gloves on their hands. The water had traveled many hundreds of miles through wide pipes to be here.
What have you done to my water? the Lord asked. My living water…
Oh, they said, we thought that was just a metaphor.
“
Joy Williams | “Wet”