Green becomes dry in bright,
Hard yellow wind gives groaning oaks
Voice to plead, with upturned leaves
Hungry for tears from the sky,
To pray for union of hot and cold,
In Late Afternoon when cumulus turn gold,
Wind gives voice,
Everything is sibilant with sound; birds stay nested,
Electric carriers threading the air, bare ’til eventide,
Things that buzz and sting swarm in the heat and sing,
Blue is truer above and shaking below the Earth,
Cries out,
A Mother about to give birth,
This season is not the harvest for taking of fruit and grain,
We prayed for rain the making of crops that failed,
The harvest is human now it seems, dreams they know,
Troubled to forecast heavy snow, that began,

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