The soil crumbles, refusing to

hold moisture as it once did.

Searing air makes tree limbs

sag and weeds turn brown.

Buzzards swoop low, searching

for the stench of those fallen.

Deer come closer in, desperate

in their search for water.

 

I pray for rain as my desiccated skin

cries for the suppleness of moisture.

And still the cardinal sings

as I dream of the crimson heart

of the earth overflowing in rivers

of abundance that reach out

with awareness that even the

desert teems with living things.