The Oldest Conversation On Earth
It is a dream, this burning.
Only the sleeper considers it real.
the dead lawn is silent,
Yet you dance because your footsteps
Snag the drumbeat.
You feel yourself swallowed by quicksand,
smothered and running out of time to drink.
Don’t apologize for your emptiness.
Simplicity rises like a blossom of fire-
Silk from your skin,
Only the dreamer knows the outcome.
The oldest conversation on Earth:
And where it goes.
Water has an opinion.