When you see it in its gush or settle

your mind starts to empty and fill.

A provenance in an ancient city

of aquifer or well, tile aqueducts

to fountains of unending purpose

and sustenance. Beyond the walls

there is a stream, a river and falls,

coursing. By itself, watercourse

speaks of an eternal freedom.

From channels of constricted

turbulence and power, forever

unbound in the nature of surf.

Still in the morning, lake or bay,

a little mist rising or falling.

When you cannot sleep, a droplet

filled with light, alone in midair.

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