At some point the mud goes cold and dry and sets

The rain abandoned, the storm ended

At some point the body goes cold and dies and forgets

The anguish smothered alongside passion

A rock long watching the swamp’s life leave

Hard and firm, surrounded by dust

Ribs and shins and hips and shoulders and elbows

remain when flesh decomposes

So there we have it: what can be done

With the rock in the desert, bones in the sand?

With a strike, the rock gushes water

Landing on the bones and giving them life