Wet and warm enough for flies
with the gift of Christmas rains
after a month of fog, slow survivors
cling to the screen door, follow us
inside to die by folded magazine
or the Western Livestock Journal,
perfect tinder saved to start a flame—
perfect weather to lure the green
to rise with black dots of cattle
grazing ridgetops with our eyes.
Inhaling damp, we breathe relief
and sigh how long we wait like flies.
drycrikjournal 