Here at cave’s mouth a stone
sings to the sky. It is early morning
and trees stir and rustle in golden
light. How long has it been since
your eyes went dark and all the
clear streams hushed? Counting
is a rush of bees as numbers follow
numbers down a long and narrow
path, ravine of gravel, sharp rocks
stinging ankle bones. Lowered
eyes and farewell on parched lips.
One foot slides before the other
in this steep descent where thirst
twists into another kind of song.
©2012 This work is the property of the author.