A Harvest, If
We fall into semi-arid desert and echoes
of sustainable tease clover across
whistle - dry dirt. Watch the seeds
fall like a curtain — not the curtain
of rain you glimpse from a distance
as it draws shut our vision into waning
watershed, the drops steeping in
number until the dark veil releases
hydro – oxy – genesis — the curtain
that recalls drought closing in on
the earth now sandy, begging to
bead water. Luck breaks open
only after it’s wet and warm. We
don’t understand chemistry right.
We only understand enough
to draw our hands together in
prayer. But hands can separate
slowly, then thunderclap back,
an arid slap.
(Portrait Lands, Finishing Line Press, 2025)
