Look how the conduit
From source to well
Has softened her tongue,
Opened her lion mouth,
Corroded her limey lip.
She drinks from the ebb,
The clear-flowing waters,
With mud earth mingled,
And feeds the world
With what she releases.
Under church towering spire,
She is bypassed, forgotten.
Yet her mossy thighs sing
Where sacred stones fall
Into the gritty street.
I think: may be she, like he,
Traversed many a desert
To find a crack in the wall,
Where now her face breaks,
Not as mind but as channel.
Within her washed gaze,
Behind those half-closed lids,
There is a full knowing:
She is chief of animal,
She is Corner Stone.
And so! What has been
Rejected is what carries
Us all to the purest
Ocean of acceptance;
That is the leap we drink...
the ancient Spring pronounces
Within its eternal splashing,
'It has always been so'