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,
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.
He had seen.
Had made me