What runs through the center?
In the beginning, we agreed.
Then there was the smallest ripple of discontent.
A mere, “Aw come on.” And so we did.
But we didn’t. Agree, that is.
There was the tap, “Look at it this way.”
Which led to the shoulder shake, “You have to admit…”
which resulted in the back turn
where after came the word toss
followed closely by the paper airplane propaganda.
We sneered and shot withering glances
which now fell quite short across the broad expanse.
So we threw stones
that were answered by cannon;
Our artillery barrage
was met by sniper fire.
We’re exposed. Take cover!
We retreat and regroup in our caves
across the crevasse,
a huge canyon now between us.
Sad, we say. We didn’t want this, we say.
We are a people who love, we tell ourselves.
Love rains down into our canyon, cuts through rock and stone to shape cliffs and ledges, gouging cracks into crevices into streams of unhindered flow to the bottom where it runs and tumbles and gurgles and plays.
Clear and sweet and icy cold.
I am thirsty.
Dare I risk a sip, standing on its banks?
So exposed. So naked.
I would be so close –
so close I could see them,
perhaps even hear them.
In the beginning, God came from a great distance, down a great chasm, into a wide ravine and turned water to wine. Drink, all who are thirsty.
That’s good wine, we agreed.