It is a miserable cup,
this damp hollow
in an otherwise dry city

How did I arrive?
Like the standing water
I trickled down a hill

The water can’t climb,
but it escapes

I can’t climb either,
Sisyphus is the rock,
or follow the water
into the air

I wait with the houses and roads,
to crumble and steep,
to stain the water like tea