Artesian Spring and Flowing to Black Rock

When I found the spring
it was cold and clean,
rising through old leaves
like a dolphin’s brow,
the bow of a wave.

I cleared away gold
and carmine and bent
to kiss the smooth dome,
drinking even though
I was warned of worms,
of giardia,
of anything raw
and not blessed by process.
It tasted of earth.

Every sense told me
this was pure, that for
a little while this
deep thirst would be quenched.
I had never drunk
from those depths before
and now I carry wonder
not a parasite
always inside me.

Keeping clarity
for gray and muddled
days, when the longing
for something cold and
clean on the lips is
overwhelming, when
I return to the
search for a deeper
drink somewhere even
closer to the source.



Poem and photograph by K. L. Johnston

K. L. Johnston is a poet and photographer who sees photography as a natural extension of poetry, distilling maximum feeling into single images. Her favorite subjects are whimsical and /or environmental and her camera goes with her wherever she goes. Other interests include horticulture, philosophy, and historiography.