Widdershins Well

When I run dry, I go to the well
Draw forth a bucket to fill my soul
To imbue my fading blood with ink
Wash my dried up vision whole

Blood grown as weak as water
Achromic, pale and dim
Will be filled with a vivid enchantment
Up to the bucket brim

It will rehydrate my vision,
Resurrect my words
Recolor my blood with brightness
Like luminous rainbow birds

But at the well I’m brought up short
There are strangers who drink from the cup
Sending the spellbound bucket down
Splashing the spectrum up

I pause on the dusty pathway
And breathe a downcast sigh
Will they take all the flourish of color?
Will they leave the well spent and dry?

Yet, their voices sound kind and joyful
Mingled laughter rings like a bell
I creep up softly behind them
And gaze into the depths of the well

I am shocked to find it brimming
Right up to the rope-work pull
I have never seen such color
Never seen this word-well so full

I must have gasped out loud
For someone turns with a smile
“Didn’t you know that this sweet well
Works in a Widdershins style?”

I can only shake my head dumbly
As I gaze at the color below
It is lush, rich and magnetic
An enchanting, light-giving glow

“Did you think the words would run dry?
Or the colors turn cold and pale?
If too many souls refreshed here?
Let me tell you the sweet, true tale . . .

For every bucket that is tasted here
Two more buckets full appear
Each more beautiful than the last
More color, more light, more cheer

It’s a well that flows out Widdershins
A backwards kind of pour
If much is taken from this well
There is always more

The more that drink here, the richer it flows
It’s a bountiful, generous spell
When blessed by the gift of this word-well
We receive from each other as well

Each time someone tastes this magic
There is more than there was before
The very act of accepting
Assures there will always be more

When I take colors here for renewal
I give back to the great guarantee
When you drink for your hearts resurrection
You are giving new colors to me

Elation, creation, building with words
This well is a poets prayer
That is deeper and ever more giving
As more poets come here to share

Show me your words
I will gift you with mine
The well will come brimming
Inspiration’s sweet wine

A cycle of sharing
That lifts and transcends
In this circling creation . . .
The dance never ends


©Edwina Peterson Cross

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