Cracks in the ground, where dry has nurtured seed, seal when it rains, cradling seed differently.
Encounter persists. And wonder.
the rain that is swelling lakes and causing rivers to break
( . . . )
(what lullabies will we sing for murdered children)
And was I tender?
Was it early morning?
A raised bump tells me a mosquito was here.
And the ants come. And stay.