like a cup of water into sand i have poured myself – tasting the dry dust scrape of the thirst of this place. words cannot shape this thick tongued wind into longing when we don’t yet know we are lost. there is a river that runs sweet water to the ocean along the shore…
it is not rain alone that fills the well. beneath our feet sweet water pools in the darkness of our unknowing, waiting for us to name our thirst.
before the sun lights the last leaf, before autumn blue fades to a night thick with stars, before the dove has called evening clear from the telephone wire, before the geranium has closed petal by purple fold petal to the night, i will drink deeply of here hold it a moment cool water to my…