Still,
I catch myself
Huddled over next to the stones, knees sore from long bending
Hands scuffed from reaching,
Reaching for the puddle at the bottom of the well.
It has always been empty;
And I have always been wanting.
From the salt-tinged memories of "sloppies" on his bald head
To the self-initiated Institute excursions, the breakfasts, trips and milestones
I have dug, picking up the phone and dialing,
desperately.
Still,
I hold myself
Grieving the empty yet comforted; there is a better well
There is refreshment, restoration, and replenishment
Instead of seeking I am sought out
And the draught satisfies.
It was created for me to drink from
A well of Living Water, never diminished
I was made to drink and now I do
Even when I forget the invitation ensues
Releasing the pain, receiving the peace,
Daughter, I am here for you.
