The river water is all
grimy here.
Each time I life my
foot my footprints
Disappear in the haze
of the mud
As though I was never
there at all,
Not even as a
disturbance.
I don’t drink the water
full of silty mush.
My tongue, a dusty parched
prairie of tall thin grass,
Says to me, “Surely, the
water past the tree,
Where the large roots
hold the soil together,
Will be cool and clear,
a crystalline blue
To drown our thirst to
death.”
The river water is all
weedy
Below the bending willow
branches
Small crisp leaves fall from limp vines
Landing gently, soaking
up the near stagnant current.
Arms of snake grass reach high above the water
Like drowning green
soldiers calling for relief.
Cobwebs stretch from
limb to limb while
Bugs breed persistently
on the sticky surface.
My tongue, an arid
plain of hot dry sage,
Says to me “We can’t
drink this infectious sludge.
Beyond the rocks there
will be a richer water,
Filtered, fresh and
crystalline
To drown our thirst to
death.”
The river water is all
gritty
Where the current
begins to breathe coarsely.
The stream falls and
trickles, passing between the rocks.
It stirs and stirs a most
methodic brew.
A pulsing pain passes
up my leg as the
Pressed pebbles scrape
at the tender walls
Of skin between my
toes.
My tongue, a vacant desert
filled with gaping cracks, says to me
“No sir, it will not do,
this gritty stew is not for us.
Around the bend I’m
sure will be water good for you and me.
Transparent through and
through. Crystalline this time for sure.
To drown our thirst to
death.”
Like a narrow neck the
river passes
Roaring over moss
glossed boulders
Unstable steps graze
the slick coated convex knolls
While merciless and
ferocious waves plow me down
Bloodied knees mark
each fall and floating
Red clouds trail behind
like notes to a song singing,
“See the ocean down the
hill. There
With crystalline blue
your mouth you’ll fill.
To drown your thirst to
death.”
Oh the lies I’ve told
myself!
The only Crystalline
thing here
Are the grains of salt
Clinging incessantly to
the unending shore
Marking where the water
once was, but now is not
The saline residue
sizzles on my bare sole’s open wounds
And my dying tongue whispers
to me,
“You should’ve checked
for bubbling springs,
Crystalline trickles all
along the way,
Flowing from green
hills above
And maybe, just maybe,
we wouldn’t have died of thirst.”
