Panning for Gold

By Kelly Grace Thomas

 

I’m always piecing together fragments from the heart,

hands in the earth of emotion.

Shifting through interruptions of patchy nights, and foggy afternoons. 

on chapped knees in this rocky river bed 

I pan for golden moments with shaky expectations.

The current, no matter how strong, never brings the full moon storm in one night.

It holds me at the edge, tongue out, eyes open,

nothing but want in my hands.

The sky pregnant with anticipation, foreshadowing the rain.

These drip drops of craving dew

sit like prayers upon a sleepless child.  

One

      drop

           at

              a

               time

they and I fall

to the earth.

I never try to hide the dehydration or the fact

that lack of has caused me to fracture in places to delicate to see.

I can tell by the softness in the air that a downpour is coming.