something’s coming
the atmosphere is past pregnant
you’d think a poet would prefer
a sonnet to drop from the heavens
but you’d be surprised
sometimes we wish with generosity
rain is good for the desert
the landscape begs for it
so why not let it come
and I’ll take the chance
a poem will wriggle out of thirsty
roots or fall from a dripping leaf
or even the rain itself could
recite something on a puddle
that only a poet can translate
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