Dumitru Matcovschi Poezii ⟶

He handed her the book, opened to a different poem. She read the lines aloud:

Then he handed the bucket to Ana.

“Bunicule, the laws—”

The well would remain. The root would hold. The heart would grow. Dumitru Matcovschi Poezii

Nicolae stood up slowly, his joints cracking like old wood. He took the bucket and lowered it into the dark throat of the well. Far below, the water stirred and whispered. He hauled it up, the rope groaning, and brought the dripping bucket to his lips. He drank. He handed her the book, opened to a different poem

“Matcovschi wrote,” he said slowly, “that a man without a village is a man without a shadow. And a village without its wells is just a map.” He closed the book. “Tell them the well stays.” The root would hold