A thing

Like a man lost in the desert or at sea,

my thirst is strong and unquenchable by anything within my reach;

yet I will be afraid and untrusting when salvation is at hand,

doubtful that my senses are honest and what is before me is good and real.

Tentatively I will get to my hands and knees, bending my elbows and dipping my head

to lap, like a cat from a bowl of milk, from the new thing I am drawn to yet find so worrisome.

Will my desire prevent me from noticing the milk is sour?