The poet is unable to let go the barren desert landscape of the mind. Yet, she knows that freedom and resurrection are possible only if she chooses the fountain of life.
A fountain sits
in the centre of my backyard,
watering and shading the mourning doves
pecking at the dirt below.
Yet I am deep in a hazardous denial,
giving weight to an illusion that
bonds me to the desert and
sand dunes rolling as far
as my eyes can see.
So deep I cannot see the fountain
or the backyard or
the delicate joy of choice.
Today I will make a decision
step onto the platform
and take my chances.
In this place, this quiet morning,
I will feel myself changed, unchained.
Then, I will start to dig into the sands
until I find a wetness burning, keep digging
until I release a rising flow,
a personal permanent resurrection.