Thursday, July 21, 2011

The Primary Drought

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

The water lilies
can’t explain
why they lie in a crispy heap
on a bed of crackled red clay,

or where the frogs
have gone.

It’s early in the season.

But, when the rain stops
a silence sets in.

Those who have not
yet given up their bodies,
pray that Death is so otherwise
occupied that he doesn’t notice
they still swill the firebrand air.

I walk through tinder fields
of tall chicory,
blue flowers closed off
to a nauseous sun.

Interesting isn’t it,
how so many people
stop to talk about
the drought?

“Tragic,” they say.

And I wonder about hearts folded
up tight against the light

and what it would take to saturate
the human spirit with a love
for this world.

Could our full presence
float flowers?

I’m open to the possibility.

Fear is a stingy master though,
and we in-habit the primary drought,
I think.

The torment of this craving landscape
is a merciless repercussion.

“Tragic,” I say.

© 2011-2013/Jamie K. Reaser
Published in "Sacred Reciprocity: Courting the Beloved in Everyday Life" (


  1. Beautiful!! And deeply felt. Thank you for sharing.

  2. Thank you my friend. "Warm" regards. ;)

  3. Very beautiful Jamie..and yes...tragically,so true.