Their voices are like coursing water

Through the hard scalding ground  

How they quench frail bodies

Beneath the lash of the sun

–

I chase their crashing joy

Their tumbling wrath

Southbound for the sea

Where they’re remade in its shadows

–

I fear the mouth of the river

The long trail snuffed in sand

Where familial songs  

Bid a stifled goodnight  

–

I dread the cool salt-breeze

Carting off the whole truth

The verses buried alive

And smothered far too long