he was four years old when

his mother died. we were 

four years together when he

left me– he put me quietly

in the ground next to her. 

I miss those flutes that hummed

when you put your fingers to the

glass, the instrument I gave you

so I would know

               without looking

when you wanted me.

an entire orchestra plays

day and night, but I am only

listening for the wind against

hollowed bone–

that purse of lips

    maestro's wand

swinging my heart

                             flat.

there's a thirst

in their distance

       a mirage

they believe with fervor

stroon under a desert moon

lost--

they wander

in search of water.