Drought Summer

Outside the night drips
Un-rained rain, as I wait for
The promise of deluge,
Knowing that it
May come or it may not.

I come to see the perseids,
But the sky is filled with smokey
Galleons bearing sacred water,
Along with tufty nighttime clouds, and
Grey wisps, grey brush strokes in
Canopy's infinite, mysterious palate,
And I can't see many stars.

These clouds, though,
They float above me as I question,
Looking for the ages' answers,
They float above the singing
Bullfrogged pond,
Above my garden, where
The story is persistence,
Roots digging deep into our
Mother Earth, deep in search of water.

Today I mowed anticipating
Deluge and on a few brief
Occasions in my mowing reverie
Rain split the beating sun with large
Orbs glinting as they pelted me,
But I didn't run for any cover,
Rain the only necessary.

I thought, today, I've only
Mowed this place three times
In this stern exacting summer,
Drought says, I am
Harbinger if you're not
Careful, and so I stop to praise
The light in every sunset,
The glint of drop on leaf and bough,
The smell of relief when
Earth receives some blessed rain.

It's not so gorgeous this summer,
Truth be told, and though
I'm doing all I'm able to,
To care for what I have here, to
Care for what I love,
I have to excavate my deepest knowing,
And in the infinite comfort of
Believing that this all makes some
Connected sense, heart beating life
Thrumming one to one on the
Eternal way to All,
I find myself asking, with
Certainty fringed by hope and question,
Doesn't beauty always shine
In reality's relief?

Finding

Here the Dipper

Here the inexplicable sky

Here the bullfrogs

Here the fox,
Coyote,

Gulp, my brother frog

Sing, my tree frog sisters,

Praise, my starry Milky Way,

Spangling into my infinity,

My unknown.

Oh magnificent symphony,

This night, these stars, these

Far-off layers of lives elsewhere,

We are infinite; 

The bullfrogs say so,

And as I sit, spellbound in night,

Up there 

The stars shine into their 

Most perfect and 

Impossible.