lastly, thirstily, and justly i am walking.

when a stone is moved from a resting place, the earth is moved
around the rock; the gray rim and edge of stones are traced
and cemented into the earth until the rain fills it up to the brim.
with water, with cleanliness, with placidity.
that is some thing that i think about when i am parched
or far removed from places of recognition or familiarity.
to quench a thirst for something familiar, to feel the calming
of something foreign.
when i am walking underneath the suns heat and thinking about death
i am not thinking about water filling me up or an ideal
of rock, granite, marble, stability, etc.
i am thinking about what i've left unfulfilled
and what has been left unsaid, or spoken-infrequently.

which is, i guess, pretty heavy for a twenty five degree day.