Monday, 27 February 2012

New Year

 Rainfall in the winter
hits a rooftop, grey,
- a momentary treasure
clattering crazy slate
but, hey,
it’s running to the centre

of wells inside the garden
glassy, level, cold
until a human grasps at
meniscus, aims to cup
it up,
swigging for their pleasure

but when the pleasure’s ended
and hands have wiped a mouth,
how far that person gazes
to east, west, north and south,
for truth
and seeking purer water.

1 comment:

  1. Made me go look up Meniscus .... lovely poem ...and the end is so poignant - we all look for purer water... nice work!