r i g h t  h a n d  p o i n t i n g

 short poetry  short fiction   short...uh..art
 

 

     
  Lisa Zaran

Drought

 

 
If evening should come
without a hint of rain, and

rain should not come
falling through the foggy

sky and somehow, somehow
a hovering jacket of clouds

creep away, stone away north.
The dark immersion of roots

will dry.  There will be
no flowers tomorrow.
 

 

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