“What stops the rain
if not desire,”
jokes the rippled windowpane.
Frozen fire
laves each desiccated blade.
Living dead,
the unenlightened shade
shakes its head.
Let he who hasn’t sinned
be the first
to stop the stones of wind
and murder thirst.
Another brief thundershower
washes the soil,
leaves it dry as flour,
water under oil —
flash-floods down the street,
filling sewers,
desultory ending to the heat.
A man lures
a twelve-year-old into his car
and disappears.
She is found, not far
from home, in tears.
Lightning is the veins of his
hand tearing
the limb from the tree. Thunder is
his swearing.
Falling out of purple sky
like fists, hail
answers every answer “why?”
Crops fail.
Farmer sends his milk cow
to slaughter
for want of hay. Now
he drinks water.
They dredge the river and tow
the flatboats
until the water will not flow
and nothing floats.