encased in a thin membrane of skin.
Drawn to our like, most of us live
at the edge of wind-rippled surfaces
bodies of water lapping land
cooling air, slaking dreams as we
pour ourselves into their being
pour their being into ourselves.
No wonder this land of ravaged rivers
now mostly dry beds of concrete
does not quench the longing
for the porous land
filled to brimming with life.
I never thirsted as I do now
watching the narrow trickle
upon the heated concrete
evaporate before it can reach
the ocean, before it can return.
©2011 Joanne Elliott