it has been a season of biblical plagues
After 177 days of baked torture.
corn-killing 107 degree days,
Rachel’s rain arrived in Colorado.
Such winter nor summer heat is seen
in a land known for skiing
white capped mountains.
I checked the new online farmers almanac.
It’s never been this hot.
Even during the dustbowl years.
Still, the rain misbehaved,
it roiled west from Topeka and Tulsa
moving impossibly uphill
leaping as far as the burned forest hillsides
Turning roads into rivers of
ash, soot, smoke, and charcoal trees
Still awake at 1 am.
I wanted to drink in rare rain sounds
Of an all night soaker.
I think i could hear
Foot tall July corn
Shortened by drought
stretch to trickle
Every drop along razor sharp leaves.
I could hear the robins and blackbirds
In the cotton woods on the edge of night
twirling a beloved intraspecies rain song
In a moonless monsoon.