left at the light

the glare of the sun

in our eyes

keeps us from walking fast.

but by

the map there is the promise

of water over

the next dune, or the next.

there's an oasis out

here somewhere.

our throats are dry, our

skin burned, 

our lives are in the hands

of nature

as we begin to crawl.

we've stopped arguing

at least, though

you continue to whisper

in your hoarse voice,

telling me that

at the light we should

have gone left.