I went down to the water while you called our friends;
we knew we’d find it soon, but I was tired of patience.
I started to drink, and my eyes flew open; my hair stood all on end
and I felt the strength return to arms softened by too much rest.
We bit into the dirt, and swallowed without chewing.
I pushed my feet into the mud while you rolled it in your hands.
And suddenly they were everywhere, our neighbors who had been dormant,
their heads thrown back to give forbearance to the wind.