Out of droughts
some things emerge,
and I recognised
an all consuming voice
of a giant sandworm
read within a book;
an individual paragraph
which burned like spice
and changed everything
in its wake.

It followed me all day
until dried out completely,
a page folded back,
lest not to forget
where the desert began,
and how precious is water,
when the ability to cry
evaporates, crossing
one too many dunes.


2 thoughts on “Drops

  1. Very interesting idea here. Inventive imagery.

  2. Matt says:

    Thanks, infuenced by Frank Herbert’s epic.

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