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.