Phone Call

She wants a boundless flood.

He gives a meager droplet--

soiled.

Muddied.

Undrinkable--unthinkable,

unpotable droplet

evaporates a year, leaves

faintly a mineral mark--

barest trace of crystalline powder

on the bedside table.

She craves long drinks--

a goblet full:

Gallons,

rivers of love

replenished perpetually

by God Himself--

and she is given a sprinkle

in the searing sand.

March 1, 1996