The Paltry Dregs

The paltry dregs.
Scrape the bottom with the bucket
and sip carefully, not losing a precious drop.
What will remain for tomorrow’s thirst?

I remember the days of sweet rain,
of rivers filled to the banks
pushing through my soul
carrying me along deep into the night
of each day.
Now my eyes droop.
To carry my head is the day’s victory.

I could dig another well.
Perhaps that one would flow,
and my bucket would be heavy.
I would share the water with all around.

A lateral move.

Each and every well runs dry.
Why keep shoving sand?

Do not scrape the bottom.
Break the surface.

Yes, the dregs will drain.
And your throat will burn.
That is the risk

To discover the Mainspring.

Where you will discard your bucket.
Stand reverently at the bank.
Whisper your gratefulness,
and dive.


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