The air bakes
Yellowed grass, towering trees
No fire danger — yet
chilly today daisies close their eyes; nod off asleep on warm stone
An early storm shakes
Raindrops off the high branches.
Struck trunk shatters.
Shelter from hot, blue sky
In pear trees' shadow
What’s sad? What’s wrong? What’s broken in the world?
Whisper these questions, and the people cry:
“No shoe without a leak, no wing not furled!
The rain has come, and nothing is left dry.”
A salty rain, that slakes no thirsts, nor fields?
From whence the wind that blows so cursed a cloud?
“From lands still further East,” the East Wind yields,
“In distant seas, my weather-fields are ploughed.”
These ancient atolls grow the Earth’s own wool,
Spun from the foam of seas that should be sweet.
But west-bound tides, the briny currents pull
From shores beyond the East, where two paths meet:
West-flowing rivers drain the flood of tears,
Which sea and sky return to haunt our years.