by August 31, 2015 0 comments

Don’t move piles of pebbles.
—Sappho, Fragment 143

A mountain escaped leaving
one pure tear—
a small lake just
to tease the city.

We dream of water here
and wake up
with dust tears
coating our pure lips.

So we take turns
kissing that lake.
We may taste it but —
teased — we can’t swallow.

Someday we’ll escape dust
like the mountain and we’ll drop
real tears in to the heart
of a dry, impure city.

– Mark J. Mitchell

editors note:

With words as water, we would quench parched minds. – mh clay

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