Dry  

The tall blue standard
Wrought heavy with scars
Digs a little deeper into the sand.
No water here to quench your thirst
No water here to clean your dirty hands.

The sun sets, and the air gets cold.
But there's no mist to give away the soul.
Dry breath and dry seasons
Spent sleeping against growling rocks.
Then the sun rises--One more time,

Move these granite mountains a spoonful at a time.
All this
All of this
And not a penny more.
Where can we crawl to next
And leave a slimy trail.
Dust off my hat, rough hands rub the back off my neck.

Set off when its dark
Out into the emptiness,
Warning the world as I go.

© 2006  Jefferson Lavender