The weather report is dry
And our soft bodies
Do not know the heat
Surely if we stayed the night
On this plain
Our hair would sprout thorns
And we could bleed in the wind
This world wraps us in twisted gulches
So we can't move but toward each other
And fall in the passing
Clouds shot in the violent blue
Stretching garments
On the bleached bones of the sky
Each day we come
And search our eyes
Like the land
For water left