Rains Upon the Plain…

When it rains in this burned ochre valley,
Everything is quiet,
By that I mean,
Every beast and alley cat is petrified,
At dew drops beating the ground,
And agitating the tall gray grass.

Snakes close their eyes,
And still themselves with trepidation,
Wondering the beat of these foreign foot falls,
As though it were predating,
And the pond frogs look skyward,
Their song in elastic pause.

The grackle eschews the downfall,
Yet uses the falling gush,
To clean his legs,
One by one,
As he shuffles his feathers,
By the safety of my aluminum door.

Children freeze motionless in their lawns,
Ice cream in hand,
Each child with a different sherbet shade,
But the rain drops that glitter their faces harmlessly,
Eat away at their colorful cones,
And puddles bright vermilion and ivory on the driveway.

The cat and I watch,
Enslaved from the corners of our eyes,
Watching upturned insects struggling in the liquid muds,
All the while pondering death…