Going to the Well
I go to the well for water
for that is where there is rope
bent with meaning as scene-drenched
as mountains beside the sea.
I go to the well to forget
the image that appears there
tucked between intertexts
with their heart lines of bittersweet tales.
I go to the well to wet my hair
torched with dreams in nightmare forests
with their deafening midnight pulleys
that stretch philosophy into recollection.
I go to the well to rediscover
what I can remember
about you as a swarm of rhythms,
a pond as natural as summer rain.
I go to the well to uncover new moons
behind every other sail
and still dance unrivalled
on quilts of guitars and drums.
I go to the well to shake the hands
of insomnia where mediums say
my summers could be only sand
amid the shooting stars of blood.
I go to the well to watch stirring silence
outfox the drivers of anger who cannot
fathom how music’s special weather
sounds seashells in cities beneath the sea.
Richard Alan Bunch's publications include Night Blooms and A Foggy Morning. His poetry has appeared in Windsor Review, Poetry Southeast, Oregon Review, Fugue, Hawai’i Review, Many Mountains Moving and the Owen Wister Review. His latest collection is Running for Daybreak. He resides with his family in Davis, California.