Drought

Water : you.

The drought was called beforehand, and now it's here.
I was given time
to taste
the few drops left.
They were colored turquoise.

I looked for them, and found them and enjoyed
and I do not regret,
but:

Dehydration
came quickly, almost instantly.
I covet
for more.

I've been here before.
It's a pattern. It's the same, the same.
I would lean into water,
to seek light, and hope.
And now it's gone.
And the never-ceasing slits ache and bite, sternfully, and again.
And they repeat. Over and over.

Drool, in pain.
Salt, and shocks, and heartbeats, and mud.

It will only get better.
It has to.


It most likely will.

And, soon,
the drought will be gone,
and a torrential outpour will invade this valley,
I will see the sight of hopeful, silver, luminous january rain.
and I will take water for granted again,
and I'll swim in turquoise-coated waters again,
and I will come back with those sideways glances,
and angels will play trumpets in unison,
and light will shine on,
and the wind will blow above our shoulders, and far beyond.

yearning...