Where does one go to access hope
when the well once filled
is dry as a bone –
so dry the grass around it is brown
and crinkly hard
like the hay bales
on a flatbed ride through
Halloween madness?

Where does one go when
forevermore was last
the bucket from that well
had any substance at all?

Is there another well,
flowing over somewhere else,
off the beaten path,
around a dangerous bend,
or
hidden beyond the forest?

Where does one go
when the source of their hope
is left barren
from excessive withdrawals
in the name of faith?

Where does one go then?