We need to talk.

We need space.

We need air, sunshine, rain.

We need rain.

Drought speaks louder

than the thunder that roars

over the dry crests

of prickly mountains.

It is all protest,

and little promise.

The clouds sputter hail,

then lightning.

the bolts ignite the tinder box canyon,

and shows us

power.

It could have been harnessed,

like the geothermal heartbeats

of the Earth.

We need this rain,

before the dust

of the farms

picks up

and leaves

for parts unknown.