She had moved to a remote part of the country,
following her husbands career,
and her rebellious desire to vacate her birth state.
Wisconsin, home of cows, farmers, and beer,
gorgeous in its greenery, savage in its winters,
land of milk and cheese, fishing holes
and wild strawberries.

She pauses, in her musings, thirsting.
The shifting sands echo the blistering heat.
Mountains rear their Time-laden brows,
searching for companion clouds
to shadow the sun. Beyond the sticky haze,
a billowing amalgamates. Moisture
has set up its still, in Arizona.

Memories of flowing water, tadpole marveling,
grumbling disregard for rainy days, permeates
the very air she breathes, marking the extent
of her attrition. At times, she is Nuance.
Lips dry, shifting emotional equilibrium,
throat aching for intoxicating libation.

Swifting winds broach their orgasmic warning,
palm fronds click and rattle, sun winks, and exits.
Gusts create dust devils of gritty vortexes.
Looming above, salvation begins its dance.
Spattering smell of dusty fluidity
foreshadows dizzying drunkenness.
Nature’s drink comes in a torrential downpour,
quenching thirst in a dry county.

Erin Moen
6/29/03
Copyright 2003 ©