Dry
Low black clouds gather
and tower one upon the other
lightning flashes flicker on the edge of sight
the wind rises to a banshee’s scream
and tears the leaves and limbs from trees
the deluge begins
a biblical alluvion
to wash away all sins.
And yet I stand here dry
in this arid, torrid air
with heat-cracked lips
and parched-dry throat
alone, on this sun-scorched knoll
and look with lust and longing
at rain that will never dampen
the desolate desert of my soul.
My Words, My World 