Echo December 13, 2007

 

“This said, the weeping youth again return’d
To the clear fountain, where again he burn’d; ”

-Metamorphoses By Ovid 

The Fool approaches the man in water with caution.

Frog in the depth of wellness, his sunken eyes

flutter on the Fool’s own. It had been a long day.

The Fool’s sloping shoulders borne the weight

of the world; dying of thirst reached a fountain.

Called out for a hand to pour water where he lay

so his hand may reach the sun; plaything of the living.

“Steady” screams the Fool.

In the back of his mind bringing flint and flint together.

The world burning under the morning sun.

Awake.