The rain is coming.
Waiting for the autumn leaves to fall,
Before it makes lasagne sheets
For the feet of passersby.
The air is thick with the scent
Of cars speeding by,
Collecting dust,
Abandoned by fields,
That can no longer claim the soil
As their own;
The dust that wallpapers children’s rooms
At night.
The rain is coming,
We can breathe easy now,
When first cracks the lightning strike,
Into the lone dead tree,
Too deep for the men to pull,
Now a fire lighting up the night.
It will hiss when the rain comes,
The hiss of cats at dogs.
The hiss of life making space.
The rain is coming,
Soon seeds will keep their vows,
And we will live well again.
The rain is coming.