King of this dessicated wasteland,
parched brittle, cactus dry,
wreathed in ill-whispering wind,
the cracked-skinned lizard's slow blinking of one eye
perceives the cloud.
From first scarce whisps
she slowly grows, swelling, darkening,
bellying generously until one fat
drop forms and
falls, and then another, wet-thudding life
into the dust. The earth gasps.
Whole-healing seeds and takes.
Shocked fingers shoot green
and spread forth grateful hands of colour
to the sky.
Lizard flicks it's tail and flees
this return of Eden.
1 comment:
Mark,
Like the "shocked fingers shoot green"- great line; any more poems?
Dean
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