don’t know why
I poured half
my bottle of water
over the dying bush
with the whisper of a final wish
is a soldier bleeding out
or a shriveled old woman
struggling to form words?
maybe my compassion was captured
by an injustice my ear
is straining to hear
the liquid skips and slips
through the branches
hits the trunk
streams away to
puddle then sinks
into the sand
twelve inches from where
I might have gotten
an answer