Trying not to worship the Sun
Water eludes capture,
leaks and drains where it can
before drying up
and giving itself over to air
Underneath it, the earth’s crust bakes
October and it’s still too hot.
Here comes you
A perfect storm,
swollen earth soaked with
and swallowed up
Leaving surfaces wet and slippery
Flirting with electricity
Igniting wildfires
only you could put out
Reflecting up what looked into you
a world of undiscovered history
You never leave me dry.
Involuntary juices called forth
like swollen, bursting clouds
not waiting for the right moment
to unleash the deluge.
It’s never wet here in the desert for very long.
Soon the pools of dark water will evaporate,
The dirt surfaces will crack again,
turn to dust again,
What remains is whatever is left
when the storm passes.
Flowers, hundreds of them.
Clean glass windows on cars.
Tiny hidden puddles that remember.