From the earth’s gullet
Gurgles a spring:

A damp throated chuckle
And breath

As moist as love
Seeps and clings

And an echo
Finds the nook

To be homely shadow.
A grotto of green

Coating beings,
A mist of epiphytes,

Sponge dwelling moss
And primordial simpleness,

Cups droplets clean
To reflect and magnify,

And hold spherical worlds
On silver, meniscal skin.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.