Poem 20160124

he had the feet of a snake
and the wings of a hare
like many desert creatures
carried a pack of brambles
on his back to capture
the morning’s moisture

i asked
–old man, why do you toil
setting stone upon stone
every day when the crows
steal them at night
and carry them to the ocean
where they drop them in

he placed yet another boulder
upon the pile
dust covered his face
his hands were those of a coyote
he laughed
–to bring water to the desert

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