18

I want to write only of bliss;
as I have learnt to know it.
I want to forget of the times in the wells
and whomever also lived with me down there.
All of their faces, all of their names.
I want to climb my heavy way
into your bucket of water
and let myself be lifted up
into the world,
freshly cut by the sharpened blade of spring,
risen by the sheer power of your hands.
To you, they may seem earthly, and, indeed,
they may be earthly on the surface;
but don't forget that to me, and for all of us way down there,
in the well,
your hands have always come from heaven
and when you pull the rope,
you're God Himself.

I want darkness to be only night
and the sun to be morn only
in your eyes.

I want to write only of bliss,
as I have learnt to know it.