on my way
whistling
happy
not thinking
I don’t know
it doesn’t matter
the day is blue
the park is green
they just want
to talk a bit
a bit
a horse’s bit
I think
they know
they think
I am thirsty
I must thirst
they know
it is their desert
they wait
in an oasis
their oasis
no mirage
they know I yearn
I must
for their water
they assume
they know
they think
they are
not a mirage
they are not
their own
illusion
they cannot escape
their minds
they know
sand fills their lungs
they cannot
speak
to me
they have no water
I am not thirsty
(from a work in progress: “Arcana,” Acecups, January 14, 2014)
subtext 