Hoist
              
           by Ghentry Hunter  ©1998

Abundant twistings guide an old bucket,
 
tracing damp stones,
 
straining for a swirling prize.
 
Sunken, swishing for life, subject to a
 
milky sphere.
 
Batting rips.
 
Night sky.

Silver disc spies.
       
Drops kneel in crevices, rivulets hide
 
from the woeful eye.

In the murk, the wood, sodden and weak,
 
braids of rope girding, holding, yet seeks.
 
Fluid ladles, knots cinch,
 
spillage slaps cold rocks.
 
The line spins and rolls and sinew wrenches,
 
a dusty throat clenches.

Ascending coolness tempts a glance,
 
pulling the worker askance,

Longing to slake immeasurable desolation,

striving to sip remarkable temptation.

Knuckles unwrap, exposing a gap,
 
and cord burns palm.

The ancient vessel plunges into the moon,

Splaying as it lands.

Hands coil, for soon.

for another poem.