The pregnant afternoon brings a sudden drop in temperature,
Pendulous clouds cross the hill above the creek;
A storm is coming.
Arizona’s season of changes, challenging my willpower,
Facing me down if I waver.
Maple leaves, burnt orange, and blood red,
Shiver in the face of the warm Pacific storm.
Throwing open the doors, I stand and listen to the thunder,
Fork lightning tracing the sky like a scar.
It has been a year since, desolate, unconfident, night-waking,
I watched, near heartbroken as you flirted,
Unselfconscious, with my heart.
The storm and my memory challenge me,
Like a song sung without love.
This year, I greet you like an old friend,
Let the fresh rain plash on my naked feet,
Rejoicing in the storm.
I hug you tight, feeling your frailty
Beneath your tale of two dozen pink roses,
And wish you well,
Now I am secure in this place.
No storm will wash me away.
The ten months-dry earth now is riddled with racing channels,
Slaking the sand’s thirst.
Sure-footed and calm I watch,
For I know the lie of the land.
Water in the landscape is home territory for me,