Desert River
- lesalexa
- Dec 18, 2017
- 1 min read
A thirsty thing dragged itself here
and died without tears.
It remembered the joyful currents running,
cutting away the debris of the past.
Nature’s pure nurture once lay here
in deep luxurious pools.
But instead of slaked need,
the thirsty one received a once rooted stick impaled
to its neck in sand.
The river flung these rocks forward with her last strength.
Now their faded planes lie here in puddles of flaked mud.
The silt floated on as long as possible
then settled and fanned out at the edges
of an old alluvium.
full of regret, sadness.
The sculptors who carved and molded this water course
have gone elsewhere, forgetting
there was once a torrent here
of passion, urgency, purpose.
There should be a river here.
There really should.
Such is the cruelty of love.
It dies before memory does.
Sybilla October 10, 2016