The Mummy Speaks of Rivers

My river is your river, Langston.

The Nile was mine, as was all I could see.
I bathed there before your New World was known.
Yet your words about her live on, and through them
Your soul, though your body is still.

My soul has grown dry like my wrappings.
Ancient, dusty wrappings.
My hunger is only hollow:
For human blood, out of human veins.
I may spill, but not consume.

I have known the Nile, Hughes.
Yet you who have not
She has made her immortal muse.

My soul has grown dry like my wrappings.

--The Mummy