August 2, 2012


predicted rain
has not arrived,
riding the jet stream
farther north,
missing us,
falling somewhere else
to soak the ground,
moisten parched lips,
make lust possible.
I remain
in the desert,
like a cactus
digging farther down,
weary eyes shaded
against the dust,
seeing if that is
really you
coming around,
moving up my walk
without a sound.