Drought
My friend still walks his stretch of
creek, this spring’s flood a languid,
muddy trickle. He heaves flat rocks
up to its bank to build what’s
scaffold in his mind. I walk
cracked city streets in search of
what I do not know I need.
6 thoughts on "Drought"
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This sounds as though your heart is in two worlds.
I really enjoyed this poem.
This, to me, reads as deceptively simple; it’s so terse yet rich and vivid; it begs an incredible question, all the more pressing considering so many people moving to cities and the decimation of natural lands; and likewise, through these lurid and sapid arils that read so simply, easily, and unassumingly, you’ve carved in soapstone two sumptuously accessible worlds and even bridged them with elegant, salient scaffolding. This is an understatement, but great poem. Thank you so much.
I guess I’m still heaving the flat rocks and lucky for it. Great poem.
Great imagery!
Speaks volumes!