Dry Mouth, Dry Bones

Sun slaps down hard,

mouth dry as cracked earth.

I gulp warm water

from a bottle that tastes like regret,

flat and stuck between my teeth.

Across the park, the pond gapes open,

its surface broken, dust gathering like old scars.

No life there,

just the ache of thirst that isn’t for water alone.

I swallow again,

searching for something to fill this hollowness,

a thirst with no name,

a bone-deep craving that no sip can reach.