There’s a story about the moon’s reflection in a well and a man
who drowned looking at it. Or he drowned trying to reach it.
Or he drowned trying to save himself from its surface. Or
he drowned trying to save the moon. Or he drowned because
he fell in love with it. Or he drowned from the greed of holding that glow.
Or he drowned because he didn’t believe the moon was in there.
Other stories are about a man at the bottom of a well
who waits each day for his circle of sunlight. He can never ask
for witnesses, as there are none, down there in the stone-walled alone.
When blue turns black turns blue and he forgets all about time, then
he can finally be still, take a breath, and gently expand. A man stares
at his circle of light, his undoing, and after it passes, the world turns dark.