J.L. Lapinel

I Sat on a Hill Looking for You

I sat in a field
up on the hill
behind the brook
and you heard me

My streaked face swelled with salt
and my lips
blubbered your name
but I couldn't smell the mint
from the licking water
seducing river rocks
with its fluid form
Not even the warm push of air
meant to toss
the damp hair
from my eyes
could lift that sweet mojito scent
past my swollen inhale

You tried
I heard nothing
in response to my imploring
I smelled nothing
that you sent to me
I saw nothing
though the water never stopped

Many years later
when the cycles shifted the bank
and the rocks grew dark
I was no longer there
but I heard you
The three of them
were sitting on my lap
and we were one
It took many years
but I heard you answer

The Drinking Soil

The soil
its dry pores
wet by drizzles
secretes
what little juices
it has beneath the roots
Above
the wind shakes beads
from the branches
often silent - unnoticed

One drop of rain
falls against the green
then drags itself
-leaving an oozing trail behind-
only to reach
the tip
of one green leaf
then leap
-wind pressing against its face-
stretching back
its features
in a monstrous grin
to reach
the hungry soil