By Michael Finch
Winds whip off dry grass and barren hills,
dust swept and fires afar smoke down
and scented strong, a land parched and scarred.
Jack rabbits race, coyotes hunt and hawks sore,
lakes lowered, land thirsting, rainfall scattered away,
across mountains far and north,
spent and brittle, sun baked, and haunting.
God’s no mercy for fools and greed spent
we dig deep, waste, persevere, defy and
fight and fall, given back to earthly deep.
But comes a sunrise, amid a deepening dark
and morning sky afire, rains awash
from Pacific storm blown fast
and drench our thirsting and waiting souls.