At the well at noon.
A hard sunlit contrast
the shimmerwhite road
the depth of the well.
The boundary provides an illusion,
a comfort of composition to my self pity.
I can say "I am the well,
I am that swallowing dark."
It doesn't matter if it's true.

Not like the jug on the wall of the well
that has wet the mouth of each traveller
but like the jug that has fallen
and spilled every drop
to the greedy dust.