Poetry Boot Camp – Generations
March 11, 2010 § 7 Comments
The puddle creates a gentle path
through the desert landscape
and ends in a tiny pool.
It’s the only natural liquid for miles.
This urine is the best of me: cellular, private, a changeling.
Today it sings of French Roast and breakfast tacos.
A hint of last night’s chocolate shades its tone.
My essence joins what came before:
generations of hardy stock – travelers
West – the bison, and the skunk.
The arroyo inhales, and we are gone.