A Single-seeded Field - Nov. 23, 2021

it’s the season of spitting

rain that kicks a little dust

off some parched letters

or a brief shower that sizzles

hitting a standalone title

precipitation this time of year

is like lyrics in hiding or worse

a poet dumbstruck for suggestions

who opens his mouth

and only a hot wind comes

unless a fine idea

rises high into my sky

and squeezes the clouds

there will be no

entertaining downpour

only this tiny germination

from a single-seeded field