We stand upon cracked soil,
Baked clean of any water.
Like our tongue caked with dust,
We speak without sound.
As wind pushes out all color,
So the world becomes but shadow and rock.
Our eyes lift skyward but in vain,
A blank wash of what was blue,
Unravels to a dull gray.
Now we have naught but our bones,
And brittle roots to gnaw upon.
Yet within our minds,
We all drown in an endless sea.
Flee from these summer doldrums,
Where our very hands mummify before our eyes.