I follow a tiny stream of water that seeps from out there to in here then out again. I hoped the water was leading me out. Sometimes I doubt. Sometimes I doubt.

The water gives me hope, life, moisture to wet my swollen tongue and dusty brow. Sometimes I doubt. Sometimes I find I can't take it any more. I become crazy by the continuous moving of rock after rock after rock. I punch out, hitting the cave wall, bloodying my knuckles, hoping the whole damn thing would cave in and end this endless digging myself out. But it never does, this rock that holds me is strong, solid.

I end up later washing the dust and sand out of my cuts and sewing up the tear that my crazy escaped though.