Mountain Wellhead

Mountain Wellhead prose poem

Photo by L.Cheryl


This is where God breathes! Here is
the mountain wellhead that cannot believe
our bodies are drenched in darkness.
Drops of water burning bright like verses from holy
books.
Here my heart smiles at
Goethe’s heart, like a sun at a sun when they meet
in the precipices of the universe.
I was born to experience motion, to undulate like the sea
in a dream, to absorb everything with my soul. What do I know of the death
of the body. What of Swiss wellheads. What of this village
Lauterbrunen. What of nude virgins. What of war. But my
feeling I know. It keeps up stalks at the edge of a cliff.
I step into the shade of a mountain wellhead
that told me how after death all family relations are severed.
Here love is simple, for there is no single universe. Many
universes are jolted into motion. Rooms. The universes are rooms! Vanity is
shut up in the rooms. And I beneath the waterfall of the worlds.
Dead hands are no longer
dead here. Hands grow out of the water, the blue
in the sky. Sleep. Drift. Do not count the drops.
The water is too good.

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