Then out to the highlands over shadow we go

where candles light the way, the world around

whose hands we cannot see holding the flame

but whose voice is the song that guides us

into something of a spellbook

with power in veins that run beneath the world

coming close now to a surface once forsaken

to let the thirsty drink from the wellspring there

They called it poison until they tasted it

and now, here where candlelight cannot reach

they cup their hands again and again

and fill their palms with reflections of deep shadow

not knowing if the well is close to empty

or if they’ve already slipped too far beneath the surface

—

—

Image by Kees Koertshuis from Pixabay