4/19/2026 (c)
There is enough—
the wishing well filled
to the high line,
its mouth enclosed by
stone teeth, worn blunt.
Some draw by bucket and pulley,
trying to quench
the thirst of many.
A farmer uses a cup
and drinks during breaks
to replenish what he’s lost.
I use a porcelain espresso cup—
fragile, diminutive—
sometimes I use a thimble.
I drink often,
so it does not flood me.
