The Artwork: All of These Cups
The Poem: All of These Cups
All of these cups
and no water
What are they to hold
if not what they’ve held before?
Maybe if I rearrange them
into the shape of a man
or a god
The heavens will be pleased
and rain down an eternal flow
of rebirth.
Maybe if I pile them
atop one another
they will turn
into a fountain
spontaneously producing
ease, and joy, and gratitude.
All of these damn cups and no water.
I’m not a miracle-maker,
I can’t make it rain.
I can only make meaning
from dust
and mumble prayers in the desert.
I can only turn my eyes
from the cloudless sky
to the ground below
and dig
deeper into the Earth –
and find the water there
that is waiting
to well.