Well Pump
To be within, yet without: the rootless seed.
Staring through glass, we see only the surface
sliced thin like cell-thick specimen slides.
I dream of knowing, of inclusion.
The well pump is fried, but only thieves
return our calls. How to deflect the lure
of complicity? Stack stone, observe clouds.
Tap the cistern. Absorb its hollow tune.
Robert Okaji lives in Texas. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Oxidant/Engine, Main Street Rag, Wildness and elsewhere, and may also be found at his blog at https://robertokaji.com
Amethyst Review 
The first line, a poem within itself, says it all!
“Satiation, our illusive deity”, to use a line of my own, is our quest; what we pursue in that quest, as I see it, paints our identity.
We all see different meanings, intents in what we read. That’s the beauty and enticement of poetry, I guess.
Leo
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