Water and Clay

What is the nature of their thirst?

They swarm to my feet like dust collects on a windowsill.

And if humanity slips, drowns?

I never intend to hurt those that can’t comprehend grace.

How does one understand grace?

Look to the bickering roofs, the saline seas.

Will I catch a lick of my reflection in the sea teasing the shore?

Along with raucous waves that silence worldly conceit. Along with ripples carved from sovereign hands. Because my body was fused for purposes higher than the arc of your brow.

What will others see after I fall in and wash back with the brown shells?

Your speckled complexion. A touch of the virtue that was when I first graced your skin. When you were baptized, in the spirit, under the father and the sun.

Are there times you resent me?

Like the grubby tongues and sweat slicked skin that soil my coat. Yes.

When the dam collapses and the oceans crumble, what do I do?

You could hike up shriveled settings till your breaths are caked in dust. Bathe in Saharan days till your lips are purpled with sores.

Will you leave us?

Not until Earth grows idle,

Until she evicts me from her beds.

Where are those beds where she cradles you?

I’m safely lodged between the July of Arctic tundras

At the bottom of African fetching pails that soak in the sun.

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