Finn walks through a dry land
by Robert Tremmel
near the sea
where the water flows
underground, stops
at a break in the stone
where he holds
his ear close and hears
his mother singing
as she stands at the window.
Her knuckles
are already swollen
in knots
and her fingers
beginning to twist.
Outside, long shadows
sing along, pines moan
in pious harmony
flawless to the bone
afternoon rain drains drop
by drop and disappears
into a cistern
cool and moss-grown
back beneath the ground
and gone.