Through The Meniscus

There’s a little flame in water
Burning heartache into vapors
Of how forgetful we become
Staring through a meniscus
At some cubes of ice.
Forgotten like the souls swallowed by the ocean.
An amnesia, of how some darkened water
Swallows the froth of the heart.
And estranged from sorrow
Man looks through the lens, a curved line
On top of a spirit, to see the bottom
Of a wishing well. From where he draws
Bucket-fuls of magical springs
Of a bucket list
Drunk on pipe dreams

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