On Cloud and Hope

Bringers of rain and scour –
Bringers of harvest and deluge,
drift gently over this land,
We beg you!
We know not the grain of our toil,
though we furrow the soil
with thick dumb hands
only to scream at our nails
prised from our fingertips.

Is it not enough to put seed before you
and hope? Is it not enough to vision
fat larders come winter?

No, I thought not.

Each cloud a mock.
Each cloud a promise withheld.
Each cloud a shadow
that runs faster than I,
Into the ditch,
Into the slough,
Into the ravine
where all shadows go.

Image: Michael Weidner on Unsplash

2 Thoughts

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