(FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH) Where moonlight folds into the earth, A well exhales in threads of light. No water — only woven stars, And she who drinks the edge of night. Her hair is spun from fallen comets, Her crown, a ring of moth-white flame. She touches time and time unravels, Each drop a life without a name. “Drink,” she says, “and be unmade — A mist that never learns to grieve. Or turn, and carry all your endings Like roses braided in your sleeve.” I did not drink. I knelt and watched How agelessness had lined her eyes. She was not young. She was eternal — The kind that only dying buys. I left the spring still breathing stars, But took her silence as my own. Some fountains don’t restore your youth. They teach your bones to love the stone. analog collage art piece on 11x15 media paper using hand cut papers 🙏 #collage #abstract #analog #art #paper - @joelriveraart