And the dry lake, no sound of water

Rails disturbing the dust of water,
the flickering tongue
of the lake licking the air for moisture,
rusted tracks echoing
into the hills- memories of trains riding
over the empty alley
of the draining pool; dry is the pool,
dry like concrete,
crumbling edges along the shore.

Long forgotten are the children ascending
to summer
swimming in the drifting waves,
their laughter
disappearing into faded air, faded sun;
footprints drying
in the mud- drying clouds, the dust
moves in
the hidden rain, bone of water.

Its beginning is its end, empty silence
dawn of another day,
preparing for the heat and the wrinkled wind
water disappearing
into the tumble down earth, quiet voiced lake;
the serenity of the
rails is deliberate- yet long forgotten are the
iron engines,
sounds muffled under the lake.

Copyright © 10/02/2016 lance sheridan®


2 comments on “And the dry lake, no sound of water

  1. Barbara says:

    This writing brings attention to a place nibbled up by time, leaving memories of the ruins remaining. Arid and praying for rain. Excellent!

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