Ephemeral

From the green bench I recall the word that stuck – ephemeral. Wonder if water formed in the snow hills is ephemeral or the water in the water tanker here over which women fight their loud throats.

All ephemeral things reach their seas ,from the hills and the tankers and the women’s voices on top of mornings silence. Their bodies thirst for water from the hills and the water tankers, their ephemeral voices tearing the quiet of my morning walk.