Legend has it: if you drink from the well
You will return, but
It’s hard to tell
She had found herself drinking from it twice --
One time at noon
The rest at night

Enter the spring: your soul remains
Bubbling and stuck in-between
To interrupt a clotting wound
And cut to a fever dream

Part of me wanted to spit
So I’d become a part of it
And this time, I wouldn’t long
The spring would pine for me instead

When we built, a map upon the bed
The ten of cups had nodded to
A door I’ve since been looking for again

Museum, the bending path
Every e-mail, every text --
Places to go to catch her breath
And relive the evidence
“Close every one, lest you should spend
Your whole life searching for them,”
So, said the angel to the child
Who, divided, broke the knife

(Oh, remind me)