This well isn’t dry,

Not yet.

I feel it stirring,

Waking up.

There is a sense of fullness in my head.

My thoughts are racing, competing, but none are clear.

They are busy working things out on their own,

Hidden from me in a misty veil

Until one, that special one, breaks through

And brings with it a flood of words.

Not from me but through me from

Behind the veil.

I can’t tell the veil when to lift,

It tells me, and after it has had its way,

Has said what it needed to say,

It slips back behind my eyes, rests and is silent.

And the words sleep and are at peace until

The stirring begins again and the veil is lifted,

Once more.