Incandescent virtues , yet I'm a drought within .
I read tealeaves in mouldy cups of our tainted futures.
Our wicks that never saw the light, even though burnt out.
Untenable sight that we drank deeply on, but still thirsted for.

we have been dry for years
our skin has grown cracks
deep fissures
unhealing and unending

our bodies resembling the desert
that gave birth to us
that nurtured us
gave us her fruit,
her sparse green,
her shallow,
disappearing pools

but still
our throats beg
for water,
for a drop
of mercy from the sky -

we croak and cry and beg
with chests heaving,
tears the only mercy to come
for petrichor lost

we have been dry
for years
no mercy
no end

overflowing with love

now here I am
trying to pull myself from this drought

I miss drowning

I used to hate rain.
I hate how cold it feels.
I hate how it makes you run for cover,
behind whatever you can find.
I hate how it trickles and burrows where it shouldn’t go,
because even the strongest of mountains
raindrops erode.

But rain has its upsides.
Rain washes away the bad.
Rain is like an artform,
expressing itself against the canvas of the earth.
Rain brings people together,
as they shelter inside cozy houses
and the sound of downpour is drowned by friendly chatter.

I used to hate rain
and I think i still do,
but I miss it too.

And today, as I had my head cast upward
awaiting the saltwater release,
I opened my eyes to a sight of relief.
After years of clear skies
and drought,
I finally saw it again:
a cloud.

bakers dozens of country miles
couldn't keep the drug out.
vinyl records and chalkboard elephants
gone with the wind.
with the run of a hand.

we never let the bread rise.
always kneading away,
putting out fires before they start
and missing the drought
in front of you.

the wind rattles my straw house,
so i feed the Wolf
to get some quiet.

I pine for you my dear
as I gaze at the horizon
and beyond in search
of signs of your arrival
I wished imminent yet,
skies these days appear
addicted only to cerulean.

Guilty to long for you
solely in your absence
heated by unfaltering
blistering beams, my
barren soils exhale
the last remains of you
in ascending vapours.

Truth is, deprived of you I,
slowly die, inexorably
thirsty for your essence
endlessly suppliant,
exhausted by the wait
as I watch waters run dry.
Mourning fountains.

Lake levels drop and sailers
linger moored no longer
allowed to navigate shallowness,
disoriented fall drowsiness
felt I had to let you know,
I miss you Mister Rain
and yearn for your return.

Yours faithfully, Missus Earth.