Abandoned Wells

No one really shares a life,
Despite this remarkable
Gift and curse of language, this

Curse and gift of sharing tales.
Just think back on your own life
In a calm moment alone,

The weary richness of it,
Built and bent by memory,
All its strange nooks and crannies.

It’s a house you tell others
About, a house with a well
You dug by living it all.

It’s a hole in the landscape
Already speckled with holes
You’ll leave as others left theirs,

And you can see their houses
And hear their tunes and voices
From your porch, where some evenings

Beside your outgassing well
You read about the others
Or browse their many photos

About those lives in their homes,
Their loud and lonely homes, but
Mostly you dwell on your own.