She felt the earth as it needed her, bloated
in its whole dissatisfaction, its quick vacuity.
She fed the ground with what she had:
a rhythmic patter of feverish rain, there
for a minute, then vapor. Giving all, she strained
under the pressure of the sun, how hot it can be.
Two lovers sat against her edge.
Said to each other let me drink you and
dipped themselves in. She yearned for their
bodies to stay light against her cool breast
let me hold you, I can relieve you.
So they continued through the night,
kissing wet draped along the slick cradle of her neck.
Beneath the moon, the earth is still in need.
They stayed and waded in the corners of her
sipped from each other until dry, sipped from her
until dry, there was not enough to quench.
Two lovers grew into her new incline
became heavier as she shrank, built themselves
a canoe to stay afloat, a curving wooden cocoon
settling into the eventual dust.