I forget sometimes the ground’s thirst.
Remember only when the rain’s held off
a few days later than they said.
It’s often dusk when I traipse in bare feet,
feel what the sun has left in the paving
and greet the rain barrel with a nod.
I let the bound water surge into the can.
A kindness I feel. Something stored
against the drought. I bless the basil first,
let leaves curl down under brief casca...
