Desert

Year by year, my heart grows sparser––
a lone cactus lifting arms heavenward in supplication.

My heart grows succulent,
hoarding moisture
to grow sparse blooms.

Roots go deeper, looking for that connection
that flows lower every year––
a shrinking lake leaving ringed memories on its edge
like a scrapbook of old loves.

Like that past we all shrink away from,
in living, I desert old loves.
In dying, they desert me.

Is their leaving named for the arid lands that I now ponder,
or is this desert a monument for those who have left first?

This poem was first published ten years ago today, July 10, 2016. I have reformatted the poem.