In Time of Drought and Rain

My dear,
it's your face in
the long-awaited rain,
the smell
of your skin
as the earth 
opens its weary 
lips, cracked
and caked with dust.


And we take in the life,
my hands searching
the droplets
for the future times
of drought,
when the heavens
have mercy
and your hands
find my face.


And the gods are
weeping
our salvation,
the corn sighs
and settles its 
tendrils into the
storm.


Your body
in the glistening
drops
illuminating the
bushes like 
lanterns at sea.
And I reach for
you in the open spaces
in the rain's torrents,
I whisper through
you
on the breeze spurring
on the brief shower.


Soon enough,
the earth surfaces
from dream, 
shivering
in the cold sweat
left behind,
and I am left
stranded in empty sheets.


Your touch- the illusion
of rain.