September 17, 2020Poem
There is sadness
lossnaturetimemortality
There is sadness
In a dry bed
Powdered silt
Is dead skin
Animal footprints
Baked by the sun
To be discovered
In another millennium
An oasis bereft of water
More disappointing
Than a mirage
The reality of death
More desperate
When tall trees die
Everything wilts
But the cactus
Nothing about them
Is succulent
But they survive
Into old age
Withered and shrunken
As the drought holds
Just as old bones
Slowly turning to dust
Blow in the wind,
When the tide turns
The rains will bring
A torrent
The bed will fill with life
Everything will begin again
One of these days
This old bed
Will birth a river.