In the darkness, I listen to a light strum
upon the roof, visualize the size
of raindrops, calculate the hours
necessary to quench the earth’s thirst
for a week or two before going back
to dream of hillsides too wet to climb,
cattle fat come May – nothing I can do,
but hope and pray for some release.
Sucked dry, we still hold on to a chance
for a verdant spring, grass bellyhigh
and sprinkled with wild colors
from all the old seeds waiting to bloom.