Just Imagine

I’m plumbing the depths.

Watching the bucket unwind

as it moves down into the well

of imagination

as I search

for inspiration.

I wind it up

and find 

a bucket full of water.

No gems.

No pearls.

But look!

There’s a frog,

an ordinary frog 

in a shiny green suit.

An ordinary frog.

Not the sort that becomes a prince

in certain circumstances.

An ordinary frog

in a bucket of water

from my imagination,

from my well.

And it’s about to leap out

to make something new,

scattering drops and droplets 

everywhere.

Each drop holds a memory,

and, homoeopathically speaking,

the more dilute,

the more concentrated

and powerful,

homoeopathically speaking.

A bucketful of memories

grown stronger in my well.

A whole well of memories

brought up into my presence.

Brought up into my present

to be renewed,

to take a leap

from the old

to make into new.

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