In the absence of rivers there are deserts;
without water. The dry sharp of silica
bites into my flesh, crawls under my eyelids
reminders of mortality; without rivers.
Without structure, I look to the fire, blind;
without the current, the tide, the ebb and flow
I disintegrate. Become shard, become glass;
heartless with longing and no longer gentle.
Without rivers I am face to face without;
the unthinkable without. Cròssing the bridge,
invisible. Lost somewhere inside the fire.