Slowly and meekly she enters the pool
These sweet dog days

No longer living in a fever dream of lover’s spit
But in the blissful auras of a feverishly hot day

She coughs at pollen but laughs heartily
Her skin is dry but she doesn’t wither

Her mouth is parched but her soul is rich
She is a desert flower

And so she was
And she became

And wandered.
The oasis was hers

And she was
A child of the sun.