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Sunday, December 20, 2020

Dry landscape, a poem

I miss this, getting into mischief in the hills
and figuring our way back
creeping down the ravine on our butts
like 2 year olds, holding
hands over the unsteady parts
and not letting go after.

It’s so hard to get lost these days,
adventure is just a Yelp category
and the broad strokes of human history,
persecution and misery and bombs
are something we have
opinions about
but aren’t real to us
the way thirst is real.

I never even go this long without water,
this out of balance.
Having small sips at my fingertips
makes me forget true thirst,
the thirst that leaves your tongue
and burrows into your bones.

Take me away from my comforts,
to the place where I politely
left my desire.
I thought I’d used up my fair share,
but now I’m tearing my bones open
to be poured into. Lose me
and let me be completely
unfound.

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