I return once more,
to where the rivulets run dry,
the horizon flattens into nothingness
and the ravens cry.

I tread back across
to where the waters once ran deep,
and watch my feet sink while I hear my
winged companions weep.

Scrabbling in the dirt,
I become painfully aware
of every inch of my exposed skin under
the naked sky's stare.

There is nothing here,
nothing but the wind's icy bite
gnawing at my cheeks with the frozen breath of
overflowing spite.

Then, the distant growl
of thunder from just beyond sight;
it knells for all these dust-swept dunes I've built yet
whispers of delight.

I may have returned
to this dead oasis again,
but now after all this time I'm finally
waiting for the rain.