Pause for thought: There are days when the heavens open
There are days when the heavens open,
we are blinded by water, shocking,
sudden as a dam-burst. We hold out
our hands, overflowing, and it streams
down our arms, down our throats, down
into the soil, making clay underfoot.
Newly washed in the rain, we dance.
Staring up at the relentless blue,
breathing dust that lifts from our feet,
we are sun-bleached, parched. Fingers
scrabble in the dirt, searching, digging
a makeshift well. Water pools, silted
and stained, but we cradle it in the cup
of our hands, in remembrance of rain.