The Fountain
Tumbling, bubbling,
rising, falling
Calling through
the pencilled lines of sleep.
Across
the soft insistent sound
the highway murmur,
semis pulling up the grade.
I sleep and stir
to water in the dark
and stir again
to water with the rising light
when chirps and calls
are mingled in my ear
and draw me out of sleep
into the colored dawn.
Lari Smith