The water of a spring is pent up
Touch it, it is so pure;
drink it, it is so sweet.
It is so still,
it cannot flow,
it doesn’t gush,
it has no pulses.
No, all those are wrong.
It is the same water everywhere.
It is sinking in the longest and the most violent dream
in which the thickest wall is breached.
Evening, November 21, 2010