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.