I
miss the feel of it
gone
dry after such a brief taste
the
desert stretching out before me
with
no end in sight,
the
soft touch that I won’t touch again
in
this prickly place
the
moan of wind in the air above me
the
shudder of the earth shifting
because
of me,
I
am Moses mounting his mountain,
my
fingers search out each crack
in
the rock for that place
where
god resides
and
the earth trembles
and
the softness defies the desert
and
the jagged edges of life
I
miss the feel of it
after
such a brief respite
a
man dying of thirst
let
to wet only the tip of his lips
before
being cast out
of
paradise
again.
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