O ye, of little faith.
– Matthew 8:26
We look up and out into a gray blur at dawn,
hear the chatter upon the roof and look in disbelief—
embraced by old friend rain. Religions hope to lift
the earthly spirit so, to settle dust, enlist legions, yet
this relief is personal, even if insufficient to start
the seed, turn hills green. Old cowmen know
Apollo’s course after tens of thousands of dawnings
and pray with dusty cough and desperate gasp—
wait for the weight to rise between wet pellets of rain.
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