I wait. . .

29 01 2016

Shiprock Dike

Arid air I breath;

dry bones yearn for movement;

desert sands burn.

 

Words no longer drip from my tongue.

Words from beyond are scarce.

I wait in barren time;

I wait. . .

 

Hope is thin like thread;

still, it holds me.

 

Presence eludes me – imperceivable;

still, a secret conversation stirs within – imperceptible.

 

I close my eyes;

Breath –

a prayer forms like dew. . .

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