Thirst

wet kisses
never quenched it
all the long, hot, dry summer

not swimming in the river
nor baths in the evening
not a tall glass of water, iced
and sweating in the hand,
quenched it

not even the liquid song
of the meadowlark spilling
out across the dry brush

now
as leaves begin to litter
and the moon watches with a cool eye
from behind clouds

standing
just outside the open door
never has rain felt so
good on my bare skin


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