On my back in an old hotel in Italy,
I would discover plenty of interesting cracks
to follow like rivers around the room.
But now there is only one
long crack in my bedroom at home.
It stretches the length of the room,
and I follow its jagged edge on chalky plaster.
One crack captivates like one river.
Extending the width of the land of the room,
it forges through mountains,
forests, plains, and ranchland – dedicated
to satisfying the thirst of the desperate
and the desire of the dreamer.
Crystal running river bubbles over stones
and pebbles, yet plummets deep and cool.
Like hammers of steel it rages against granite
to trickle dry in dusty death. The sweet water leaps in
faith at the journey’s end, as the lazy salty ocean
laps it like a dew drop of syrup.