"Exile"
Hope cracks dry
underfoot,
tinder for despair.
Dreams sweaty,
fevered, tossed.
Chewed stories stale in the mouth.
Waiting souring
in curdled expectation.
A promise fatigued.
This is the brittle season.
Burnt eyes
scanning the horizon
for a dawn long delayed.
We wait in the city
of the dead.
