When My Soul Thirsts

Oct 10

Change Happens Under Cover

Thimble of Smoke-finger Seeking Fog Bank

The moments that still exist, in spite of our foreignness in our own life,

Are both

Our pain and salvation,

The wick and fire,

Parchment desert and jungle bed,

Knife cleaver and wand,

The memories who serve mad and those ones who pull us back into dark corners where joy waits for your glance,

The spot of alembic embers of purpose, place, and path,

That reminds and remembers for us, so we can journey this loss, alone,

All the while still being a lingered whiff of identity, a smoke-finger seeking fog bank who quietly seeps in to blanket the horizon

So the real attention of change happens under cover

Temperatures dip, skins dries, moisture vanishes

An old, unnamed thirst lines our throat

What we seek knows its echoes lure us forward or pulls off to the side,

Into a tidal pool where raw beginnings of small microbial fluctuations

Offer up futures,

And we peer but for a moments notice

To realize how vast the unknown rests within this thimble, this comma of time.

Bren Littleton

10/10/21

words/photo by Bren Littleton

Tin Flea Press c. 2025

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