Random Acts of Poetry

Random Acts of Poetry

Thirst

The landscape loses the river
where chain-mailed fishes leapt.

I trace it in a book, with my finger,
even as they cook on the seared shore--

under a flickering sun,
framed in a dusty pane.

Outside the door
the brown grass sprawls,

a bone-thin dog sniffs an invisible trail;
black trees tap the siding.

There's nothing for a dowsing rod.
Under leaves brown as leather

and mysterious withered shapes,
shucked skins are hidden like mummies.

A dark hour descends,
a dry mouth exhales,

tumbleweeds invade my sleep.