People were milling, spilling river-like
around each other
under sun-borne haze.
They bought and sold;
young and old rushed
everywhere
under depths of blue spread overhead.
They were a maze,
heedless of the day-stream's flowing reservoir of brightness.
The rushing, close-together wanderers
found nothing to amaze them.

Filling streets,
Crowds were waters coursing over and around a dam,
failing to meet or come together.
Separate flows rushed off,
cascading about
in different directions.

Yet two streams
found each other in the flood
Of aimless nomads.

I drank deep from you,
as if from some rare, ancient tribal well,
before you went away.
I rested in stillness
at that sacred shrine,
a pool, formed from rock-born cooling springs.
My soul became
arrested,
moved and yet unmoving.