Clarity,
Office 17622,
PO Box 6945,
London.
W1A 6US
United Kingdom
Phone/ Voicemail:
+44 (0)20 3287 3053 (UK)
+1 (561) 459-4758 (US).
In a neighbouring village the water supply
is generous
for they abut South Mountain high enough
for ice and snow
numerous rills trickle to the base
and seep underground, soil
is moist
and crumbles in your fist
light often shines on puddles
Some grow vegetables,
a few flowers
and fruit
every garden flourishing, each stall
an abundance of green,
red, yellow and purple.
An old pipe empties into a lane
on days
when heat penetrates the deepest sediment
children swallow mouthfuls,
a rook ruffles her feathers,
workers returning from night duty wash shadows
from their eyes,
grit under the fingernails
and allow the fluid
cold and unimpeded splash on stone.
Concerned citizens protest development
with the potential
to contaminate streams and leach
into the life force beneath their feet
we hope to visit our friends
and taste the clarity, sniff the air,
expect the chill
swirl our fingers in the pools.
For ages
a stone well has served the town square
it is sworn that if the night is clear
and one peers from the right angle
a star will reflect on the surface,
a coin thrown in
sound loud as a wave on rocks
with a hand cupped over one ear
a tune the ancients remembered in their dreams
will float up through blackness:
Everyone can quench their thirst,
enjoy the source
discover heartache in a word,
the split second coming to know one’s life long partner
in a look
the timeliness in its flow.
No one need be reluctant
a scholar with a furrowed brow,
an onlooker standing above
a simple homebody with a story to tell.
is generous
for they abut South Mountain high enough
for ice and snow
numerous rills trickle to the base
and seep underground, soil
is moist
and crumbles in your fist
light often shines on puddles
Some grow vegetables,
a few flowers
and fruit
every garden flourishing, each stall
an abundance of green,
red, yellow and purple.
An old pipe empties into a lane
on days
when heat penetrates the deepest sediment
children swallow mouthfuls,
a rook ruffles her feathers,
workers returning from night duty wash shadows
from their eyes,
grit under the fingernails
and allow the fluid
cold and unimpeded splash on stone.
Concerned citizens protest development
with the potential
to contaminate streams and leach
into the life force beneath their feet
we hope to visit our friends
and taste the clarity, sniff the air,
expect the chill
swirl our fingers in the pools.
For ages
a stone well has served the town square
it is sworn that if the night is clear
and one peers from the right angle
a star will reflect on the surface,
a coin thrown in
sound loud as a wave on rocks
with a hand cupped over one ear
a tune the ancients remembered in their dreams
will float up through blackness:
Everyone can quench their thirst,
enjoy the source
discover heartache in a word,
the split second coming to know one’s life long partner
in a look
the timeliness in its flow.
No one need be reluctant
a scholar with a furrowed brow,
an onlooker standing above
a simple homebody with a story to tell.