There is an old dry wellspring
long gone forgotten
boarded in dust caked planks
a place of black echoes
and fists through ice
my overgrown pit
lost in a jungle of decades
lo it has been found
uncovered and filled
to overflowing
water black in the cold moon’s light
is crisp on my lips
and refreshing like a prodigal memory
gone and come back again
and I am father run to son
and I am son run to father
surprised that my clothes
still fit so well…remarkably well
Harnessing Chaos 