Searching for bliss the mind is two
young men afoot in the desert.
Horses have long been beat to glue,
now feet, not hooves, are burnt on dirt.
Each hates the hunger in his gut
and fingers fit through whittled ribs.
Each shakes with thirst to stand straight up
like infants first displaced from cribs.
They find a leak from mountain vein,
one throws his knees in certain glee,
“I love this fount, here we can stay
and drink each time we feel thirsty.”
The other drinks then stands again
leaving, still weak, his tongue; wetter.
“I cannot stay, hunger remains.
Cannot there be someplace better?
If nothing more than death I find
‘what if?’ will not disturb my mind.”