You never understood me until you watched me wash the inside of the well, with clean well water and invisible soap that dissolves the dirt and then clumps up and floats on the surface, suddenly iridescent.
I net up the greening lumps, skimming. I leave the net out to dry. Within hours the lumps are coagulated and bacterial, dirty heads striated with living question marks, leech pieces, worm eyes, segments of fertile sediment.
Enough biomaterial to assemble themselves into flying animals, little glowing spitballs. They waver off into their new lives. I made them surely as I made my daughters: without knowing how.