the dry months
every second, seven grains of
sand filter
down the washout, tossed
in the wind -
whispering where water was,
dry washing
your footprints wandering
out of sight -
and just for you, here is a handful
of wonderment
sand filter
down the washout, tossed
in the wind -
whispering where water was,
dry washing
your footprints wandering
out of sight -
and just for you, here is a handful
of wonderment
