Fill me

There's a big empty inside of me--a dried up sea

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.