I didn’t know them then,
these powers–
cleansing, flowing–
but awareness was not required
for use.

Now, some draw from my well
and its cultivated depths
for bathing and the slow erosion
of rough edges,
for refreshment,
for finding new paths–
and I know my purpose.

But to you, I was always transparent,
and in those days,
the glassy surface was yours
to interpret, and the plunge–
though drowning was on your mind.
Perhaps, with time,
I bored through you without intent
to leave you a canyon
to leave me.

The tide goes out in retreat,
splashing myself over your earth no longer.
When I return,
I am wave touching water,
single and whole.
The desert people come
to drink from my well,
and you with your camel and canyon and empty canteen.