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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