when the sky is fire
be not afraid
of the wind
the coming storm
the dark clouds
touched by flame
of the rising sun
will water an
earth that is
and you too who
the burning sky
with dry dreams
shall find them
wet with rain
like you my friend
i too am dry
but the rains do
the choking dust
from many tramping
feet has left me mute
but a wet morning
greets my waking
throat cords are
watered and a
song flows forth
The earth awakens from its drowning.
The water is getting off the mountain as fast as it can
like the people chased from their farms in these hills years ago
by the storm of the Great Depression until they finally came to rest,
settling like glistening silt at the foot of the mountain.
I see their faces in the dry stream beds now flowing wet again.
I wander this dripping, draining world, seeking a place warm and dry
while the tumult in me slowly subsides
and the roaring that arises from overflow
becomes the gentle silence of letting go.
The rains have been a long time coming.
I walk beneath the wet,
The hurricane off the coast is predicted to bring more storms,
yet I wonder if the drought within me will ever end.
So I wander beneath weeping skies,
my thirsty dreams outstretched in my hands.