Jacob's well

last night i dreamed of whirl pools.
Jacob's Well aching, lodged in cypress creek's neck.
felt it going a few feet deeper. restless
as all Texas Hill County. chewing  our collection
imaginations-- craving, yearning for us.
i read about the thousands of passage ways,
the quiet birth of underwater caves, i could feel
each fear i had stretching the aquifer--
hard swallow. on the walk home i tested the
earth as i traversed-- wondering if 
Well's like that are contagious-- if by 
letting the thought into your mind that maybe
more might come. the whirlpools like blisters
wild on the back of a god laying
faced down as we step on her body. she goes
deeper. my mother becomes a throat to
fall into. at Jacob's Well the locals stand 
around in red swim trunks & bikinis &
there i am leaning on my car. i drove 26 hours
without stopping to get there but i can't,
for the life of me go in, the locals turn 
into fossils of trilobites & fern-- scurry
back to their places along the lips of
the opening. i think of the bottom of
my bathtub & how i never trusted it-- how
i ran my hand along the plastic surface again
& again. you must demand the ground beneath
you or it'll go cavernous on you. 
i swear i heard it laughing-- either that
or it was just the collective voices 
of all the bodies submerged-- skin to
stone-- the dull teeth of the water. 
finally i asked i the mouth would have me--
tongue gushing water. if she would 
want to make me a fossil as well. i remembered
the stories of dad digging in creeks with his
own father. i hoped that maybe he would 
uncover me-- set me in the wooden chest
next to the rose quartz. i waited for nightfall
when the world was done congregating at
the entrance & i could be alone
with the unfathomable drop. i love the
kind of darkness that water makes-- the kind
of mythology that it writes-- i conjured 
water beasts to eat myself. i stepped
in one foot at a time. water cool &
turning to milk. bones floating to surface,
i go under.