01 October 2019

Postcard 179


I was thirsty and you did not give me a drink

We are bookended by deserts
Any water found is owned and sold
as covetous as clouds are held
in this misers sky

We are becoming well to well
wanderers with long distance eyes
and swollen dusty tongues that
lose memory of wet words

like swell, wash, tide
Wave and drowning, mildew, mist
Riches of thought uncounted
in untroubled minds

Now, focused and squinted
like mid-day's valley searching eyes;
puckered like split lips searching dry and dumb
through dessicate clouds of lost and ancient thought

Coming up with only -- water, drink, and blood
And thirst, dear god, and thirst
You did not give us a drink; we are grateful though --
Each day a new word for wind

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