Because we are mostly
made of water and water
calls to water
like the ocean to the river,
the river to the stream,
there was a time when
children fell into wells.
It was a time of farms
across the grasslands,
huge ancient lakes
that lay beneath them,
and a faith in things
invisible, be it water
never seen or something
trembling in the air.
We are born to fall
and children fell,
some surviving
to tell the tale,
pulled from the well’s
dark throat,
wet and blind with terror
like a calf
pulled from the womb
with ropes.
Others diminished into ghosts,
rode the bucket up
and when you drank
became the cold shimmer
in your cup, the metallic
undertaste of nails
some boy had carried
in his pocket
or the silver locket
that held a small girl’s dreams.
In those days people
spoke to horses, voices
soft as bearded wheat,
and souls lived
inside a stone. Not to say
it was good, that falling,
but who could stop it?
We are made
of mostly water
and water calls to water
through centuries of reason
children fall
light and slender
as the rain.
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Home Pond
Canada
Dark Ages of the Sea
Lorna Crozier