Parch
Night flows,
a river crossing
years meandering;
rose petals ride
the yawn out,
this eternal splicing
of rain, flood, tears of
a child alone.
We wait in line,
patient, enduring day
upon day upon day.
The driest months
settle in, sand tongue,
scolds food & might;
a non-moving current
without ambition.
Pine for the curve
of rain. We wait.
The land stricken
holds out its hands.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, February 11, 2021
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