traces

there are no corners to round
or hills to walk over
instead, the ground bends
each step i take
over the horizon

there were days without water
i could not say much of them
i got down to die
on my side, like a baby
my mouth gaping, like a fish
in some way
accustomed to starving
your image

i opened my eyes again
the darkness turning blue
and there: the remains of your fire
your clothes, your blankets
how would you survive the desert?

the gazelle will nurse again
lowing, but i have forgotten how