the well (2)

Poem #322 from a series of poems drawn from the imagination and collected as: a Bachelard reverie.

Back to Bachelard and me – Introduction


it is a constant
almost permanent
brightness
a gleam

especially as it shines
solitaire
in this deep shaft
of absence

a wet ripple
mirroring the light
of nothing
but a white
glisten

he has twisted
turned
spun

but there is no source
he can locate

all else
is ebon darkness

solid

the light looks like
thin water
crossing slowly
from the up
to the down

progressing incessantly
without seeming to move
yet shining a mobile-seeming
reflection

there was a time
it seems an age
ago
when it
was not
but
he has become
accustomed
now

and its sudden absence
unanticipated
unannounced

un-replaced

is like a physical blow

he strains to see
to hear

there is nothing
but his own sodden
gulp
of air and sound
and a slow extension
of the trail
of a tear


© Frank Prem 2018

Bachelard and me Poem #323: aficionado

2 thoughts on “the well (2)

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