Spontaneity

a glass barely full

Raindrop to puddle to

stream to river to 

sea to ocean 

which flows and flows and

overflows

I hold an empty glass - tongue dry, mouth parched.

0000, I scoop a raindrop,

trying in vain to wet my cup.

0710, I scoop a puddle,

my cup fills halfway.

I rejoice, thirsty no longer. 

1220, I scoop a stream.

my cup is brimming with water,

a few drops run down

its side. I lick it up.

1530, I scoop a river,

I fill my cup, then a bucket,

then another bucket, then another

until I have enough to fill the well. 

My family rejoices, thirsty no longer, all is well. 

1840, I scoop a sea, 

enough to fill bucket after

bucket of water beyond 

my wildest dreams. Yet the salt stings,

sucking water out of my tongue

as if each grain were the suction cup of an octopus.

2150, I scoop an ocean, 

venturing into its dark recesses,

filling my crates full of the water 

which enveloped me left, right, centre.

I scoop and scoop until I can scoop 

no more, the night nearing its end.

The crates smell just like the sea. 

0000, the ocean is empty.

So is my glass.

I am thirsty still.