Dried

Dried

There
Is 
A 
Place 
Nearby, 
In 
Rural 
New
Mexico,
Where
I go 
To
See
The
Ancient
River
Bed.
There,
Long 
Ago,
Natives
Left
A 
Marked
Tread,
In
A
Lonely
Spot
Where
Once
Water
Flowed,
But 
Now 
Does 
Not.
I stand
On 
The
Barren 
Sand 
And
Wonder
How 
Long
The
Aquifer
Will
Last, 
Or 
Like 
The
Past,
Dry
Up,
Empty
Our 
Thirsty
Cup
And 
Drive
Us
Away,
Like
Those
Who
Dwelt
Here
Only 
Yesterday.