Here

Fire skies rumble
as legions of angry clouds
fill their bulbous brims
with crimson screams
empty of rain.

The dryness crackles
through the air
so indifferent it doesn’t even pause to consider
the green lung of the earth
where trees are more than wisps
and do more than dream of moisture,

moisture that doesn’t proselytize
or splash violently through its short-lived life
before the desert engulfs it.

Here
in the dry beating heart
here
swollen with dehydration
here
slicked with grease
here
rubbed with sand.

Here.

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