Beasts of Burden

[Wildcard]

Hi Leanne,

I have been 'visiting' this one for a little while off and on. Pretty sure I don't have anything insightful, but I do have a few questions

My friend the camel learned to fly in the wasteland. He
was golden with water dreams, but pockmarked
from the toes down and across his unshadowed page. --Is the a page that has never been read? Story that has yet to be told? . . . and from the toes down . . . such an interesting choice of words. This is what keeps bringing me back.
I didn’t know how to drink without a tongue and he
had forgotten how to be a cup.

We learned in grey and salt. He would stamp on my spit
until it ran greening into parchment cracks or
– slitherwise as the taipan –
tricked the grass into bloom.

I watched him hollow, stretch, thin, sway,
muddy and cough. Sunsets tripped over his brow, --This is a smile for me. What a nice way to give me the image
worn now to wax-bright whispering.

I found wings on the redgum’s bank, fluttering
out of waterlily reach. I frightened them, but he was close
behind to soothe. They tapped his shoulders and he smiled
his last drink for me.

I am so not sure that I am doing this right, but just as sure I love the words.

Thanks for sharing