I think I will stop looking in wells or sewers, drainpipes or anything made to wall or divert—
fences, too, and double-locked doors, all are welcome to their own ways, I am tired
of turning over honey jars pounding them
with greed and desire,
No more trying to wring water from ice-stiff dishrags
in kitchens with mice in cold cupboards.
I think I will just sit here silent, by the open door,
see what comes in, seems unlikely though.
