Agate,Alyssum,Apricot—
simple pleasures I can still pronounce in this desert.
Love’s only dominion, the clear
well-walked path to drinkable water. I hesitate
to ask for answers, remembering the others forsaken in a basket, garden, well.
There’s no one left to write to
but I’d tell of the tree, its sweet shade
at high noon. The untorn snakeskin I found while digging for wetness in the sand.
Against the crude mountains, his turned back whittled down by my calls.
I’ve learned to cull want from wait,
to walk until water appears.