David's Spring

He's unable to quench his desire

for his enemy's spring. His guards

chafe at David's need: They carry

a pitcher, scale the enemy's walls,

dodge a sentry, traverse the camp.

Parched though he drinks water,

David waits in his royal pavilion.

"My throat feels awash with ash."

They discover the spring, draw

from it, and bring the full pitcher.

David, feverish, reckons the spring

is like blood, a danger to his soul,

so he suffers, scorns thirst, pours

out the pitcher, a libation for God.

[un/ready-made]

the bowl uncovered