The drought

Old sketch i made on 1/8/2004

Where the stream goes

In the vicissitudes of time,
I follow the river and
Watch it turn into a stream.
Overhead, the clouds break like glass
Scatter over the sky’s canvas
As I broke once, into your open arms
Like an old mirror
You grew weary of keeping
And looking into.

Now my collar hangs upon my neck
And tightens like a noose.

And the stream flows on,
Like a departed friend or,
An empty street at night.
It listens and forgives and
Starts to sing

My songs are an ocean before her empire
Where the sun of your memory
Rises everyday
Feeds the roots of my eyes
Wishes and overflows
Sleeps and sways.

But the stream rages on
With all its answers,
Grows thinner for the bird to rest her feet
Gets warm for the woman to wash her hair
Pale for the man to quench his thirst
And for those that he loves

It lingers on, smiles and dies.