Dry

I felt my vessel
had become a sieve,
suddenly unable
to capture and retain
that which would slake my thirst

For though the day was not devoid of brightness,
I found no pool within,
in which to reflect —
just a dry concavity
in which to feel alone,
a place collecting shadows
and the sound of bones.

©Wendy Mulhern
December 13, 2018

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