Across the sands
you reach.
With hands dry, elbows chapped
fingers open
I reach back and
in your cupped palm
I find water

The night’s darkness
spins in heavy eyelids,
and it surrounds me.
Stars gather inside
my mind
forming the shape of you
in the skies

Carpenter lines
drawn across rough wood
I draw the plane
smoothly, shapes emerge.
When you visit
you see a dimple
not critiquing, I see your finger
gracefully move in it
and I continue
my work

You do not save and
have no oasis
upon which I can rest my bones
but in the desert
you offer respite
and I know I’m not alone
You do not save and
are no lighthouse
to rescue sailors
on the seas.

But you are here for me
and you remind me
steer clear
stay aligned
and know that rest is
while the past is

Published by Adam

Adam F. C. Fletcher helps organizations engage people more successfully. Contact him by calling (360) 489-9680 or emailing

Leave a comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *