Thirst for Rain
Waiting for deliverance of the package of life:
a box holding the truth our truths are about —
the feet suck to the ground as if they had
a choice, a fly’s gymnastics more graceful
and only slightly less erratic or brief;
the eyes blink at the sun and peer into
the threat of shadow; the hands shape things
because they must, the compulsion to build
for that which is capable of building, the way
termites are sentenced to erecting mounds.
Life like hands cupped and raised to a sky
from which the rain is always ready to fall.
But we want what makes the water thunder
on the hard parched earth and the thick mud:
the maker of rain; the form of the first drop
that poised like a star and rushed downward;
the thirst for water that was always meant only for us.
from Autumn Sky Poetry 2 — by JB Mulligan
Photo by Christine Klocek-Lim
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