Hoping for Rain
The reservoirs are empty,
we’re advised when to flush the john,
take sponge baths instead of showers,
gray-water poor, forlorn flowers,
and fined for overuse of miniscule
amounts of alloted water.
how, like pebbles, rain plopped circles
in silver puddles and ponds,
formed winter brooks that streamed in torrents
down greening hills,
and gushed down gutters thatching
rust-colored pine needles into clumps.
Rain glossed leaves,
and rinsed the air ‘til it was so fresh,
it smelled sweet as a daffodil.
Once again I long to see
the silver-beaded veils on windows,
to hear, warm in bed,
drumming rain overhead,
the plonking of rain off the eaves.
I want steamy kitchen windows,
even dark, wet logs on the woodpile,
purring wet cats wrapped in dry towels,
wet, doggy-smelling dogs shaking water around,
and you coming in past glowing gold wrought-iron lanterns,
rainwater on your face and shoulders,
gleaming like the “I’m home,”
light in your eyes.
I hope the burning glaring sun
will soon succumb
to damp, mist, clouds, fog and rain.
Rain glossed leaves, crystal-
beaded berries, blacked boughs, swept
air with hyacinths.
i can go on because of you.
because of hyacinths.
berries, glossed leaves, blacked boughs, brushed
air with hyacinth.