When I first tasted your skin
It was covered in water.
It was hard to describe but it was free.
Lakes are craters even now.
A child asks who pulled the drain plug as you drive by.
There is deep sadness in the retreating water, a reluctant
path of tears sinking into the dust,
searching for an oasis to nourish, water looks down
and sees it’s vanishing.
Cries out to the lone red bird
perched on a burnt tree,
cries out to the cactus who needs no one, cries out to
you and me who have forgotten water already.
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