In Fire Season, Rain - Kim Stafford

[Larry Robinson]

In Fire Season, Rain

The soft smoke of hard rain
drilling down through tree bones.
The hiss and steam of quenched fire —
rain nipping flame’s root, gray mud of ash.
Rain tap slapping your hat. Rain gloves.
Rain making your coat heavy, your neck cold.
Rain washing what was seared, culled, fallen, lost.
Where fire fed, rain offering rest, restoration.
Rain turning eye-salt to rivulets, rivulets
to rivers wheresoever many weep as one.
Rain thrust deep in earth, seeking seeds.
Rain taking its own sweet time.
Earth’s thirst for first rain —
never to be cursed again.

	- Kim Stafford