right in front of me
down in Brazil
on the computer screen
and he said
sweet clear water

His father laughed
and sweetly poked fun
at sweet,
but the word sailed
right into my head,
into the back of
an old ’57 Chevy
pickup rattling
down the logging roads
Me, a dog for a moment,
tongue hanging out,
drinking in the dry August air
cooled by motion only,
wishing a sweet drop
or two of
water might land on
my dry
dry tongue