On my back in an old hotel in Italy,

I would discover plenty of interesting cracks

to follow like rivers around the room.

But now there is only one

long crack in my bedroom at home.


It stretches the length of the room,

and I follow its jagged edge on chalky plaster.

One crack captivates like one river. 

Extending the width of the land of the room,

it forges through mountains,

forests, plains, and ranchland – dedicated 

to satisfying the thirst of the desperate

and the desire of the dreamer.

Crystal running river bubbles over stones  

and pebbles, yet plummets deep and cool.

Like hammers of steel it rages against granite

to trickle dry in dusty death.  The sweet water leaps in

faith at the journey’s end, as the lazy salty ocean

laps it like a dew drop of syrup.

2 Comments Add yours

  1. Bonnie says:

    Thanks, Annita.

  2. Trish says:

    Bonnie – you dream and write in Technicolor accompanied by the music of the earth. What a gift He has given you. And what a joy to my heart that you pause to share it.

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