I can't see across
where the pelicans used to live.
They held secrets, like fish, in their beaks.
And now, everything about me--scrawled on little
scraps of paper, blowing about the silt and gravel
where the water once was.
When the wind blows, even I can't see
the pieces of me, the dark parts
held beyond my memory.
Somebody, bring the water trucks.
Somebody, tuck what's written
back inside some creatures' mouths.
Return me to the world where I hadn't caught
glimpses of me
I never wanted to see.