Before

I miss trees—the soldier sighed—
soaring swallows, darting deer. And I—the other
sighed in turn—a dragonfly on silent water.
Each felt his longing as condensed, a bead
of sweat on the ridge of his brow:
how could it therefore be ignored? 

What followed rolled like desert sand.
Then, in that instant when
thirst follows thirst, they swore to never speak of it—
as when a grey fox parts tall grass
and passes through and disappears
and the grass springs upright, as before.

[from The Burning Door, Tiger Bark Press, 2014]