Poetry is like water.
You can’t live without it.
Out in the desert you know how precious it is.
Such thirst sits in your rock-hard throat.
Mining your soul with a pickaxe.
When you’ve walked for days and find a river,
you run it through your fingers and aren’t sure if you can trust your mind.
But you have to drink it,
even if it’s just a handful of sand.
You need it to be true.
It tastes so sweet,
and you die with a smile.
Remember when you saw the ocean for the first time? All you saw was land.
Because it didn’t fit in your head.
How could there be that much water?
You jump in and you’re surrounded like a hug.
With smothering love.
This is the life-giver.