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  • Writer's pictureHannah Hinsch


As the deer longs for streams of water, so I long for you, O God. -Ps 42:1

We saw one splayed

lifeless cold and breathless spent

ribs exposed and lined with salt,

sightless eyes

clear as glass.

Sand fleas gathered darkly.

She offered me yellow flowers

in so many words

sprung up quiet from her garden,

sea air the same that breathed

in jars of water beside my bed

so I would wake to see.

Years later, in New Mexico,

in my first steps sloughing off sleep

and miles from water,

another, panting strong

and alive walked through sunlit trees

on my lone road,

limbs laved in gold as they lifted

as though to unfold with thirst.

As though

He had seen.

Had made me

to see.

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