Water on the boil is a bubbling brook
in kitchen kettle.
I steep in soothing waters,
like peppermint leaves on simmer
The breath inside of me
is the ebb and flow of the sea.
In my eyes the calm core of eternity.
Water on the boil wears
a rough and tumble face too.
Spits and hisses
like a viper with an angry tongue.
Insolent and reckless,
escapes its pot,
splatters scalding streams
over counters and crockery.
Just as the spring of mortal sentience
courses to a pulse
of placid pond or roiling rapids,
we humans gulp
from the bottomless cup
of our feelings.