Well
Stones
All of my life
has been
inside a well,
its ring of stones
teaching me the grammar of my days.
From that dark throat
the sky was only a rumor -
a pale amnesia
faint and untrustworthy.
I lived in a cistern of the known
and the stones above me
insisted the world was mostly granite,
water, and mud.
Then one night,
the air was still
a miracle happened:
the well’s skin
shimmered like film,
and its surface became translucent.
On that fragile pellicle
stars appeared—
pinpricks of fire
quivering in the silence.
What were those objects?
Messengers? Illusions?
Only merely desperate hopes?
Ellesha: (nodding to herself) Don’t you see? We’re all trapped in our own gravity wells. We are held down by the mass of our habits and the heavy sediment of our histories. We’re stare at the stars from time to time, but our feet are stuck in the mud.
Jules: (shaking his head and rolling his eyes) God, Ellesha, your words like heavy stones. Lighten up. Enjoy the small joys of life. Anyone care for a beer? My glass is reaching a critical vacuum.
Andrei: (with a slow, enigmatic smile) A little lubrication for the gears of the soul? That sounds great! Every philosophy needs some sort lubricant. Since we’re fresh out of other intoxicants, a cold lager is a respectable substitute.
Soo: (folding her arms, unimpressed) Typical. The moment something feels deep, you boys look for a drink. Is the "infinite" too bright for you, or are you just afraid of the silence?
Jules: (raising an eyebrow, grinning) I’m not afraid of anything. Perhaps the "music of the spheres" consists of beer bubbles?