Parched

Measured teaspoons of salt. 
Sifted flour, dustbowl flour. 
It gulps and swallows water. 
I feel it splinter off my hands, 
flake and crack as I wonder 
why the thunderclouds 
why the parched silence 
            that knows how to divide 
                        red now rust colored sand 
                                    blown to burning without fire 
I wonder 

what it means to dissolve 
            from inside 

            with pieces small enough to 
sift through me 

            touching 
            traces of rain 
on 
the thirsting clay.