drought

[eclipse]

The desert waters it's ghost as it paints

a mirage of the rain falling on a rose

trapped in a mirror, hands appear

outside of me like roses on a thorn,

they demand grain, dreams are

watering hope. There is a rose that

exists in  form waiting to be born out

of nature's apparatus, but she will only

offer the thorns of a paradigm that haunts

in camouflage. To some my people are

grains of sand ready to make blind those

whose synthetic sun rows against the

real sun on night's boat. The river's ghost

lays here waiting for the rains. I will flatten

the earth to make it into a parachute, shaking

out silver, gold, sand, and rogues will fall.   

[Tinker]

Hi Barry,  I had to read your first line twice before it made sense to me and instantly I saw the image.   Really nice.

~~Tink

[tonyv]

There's a lovely consistency in "nature's apparatus" here, Barry. The focus on grain/grains culminates in the shaking/out (of) silver, gold, sand (and even rogues) each comprised of grains.

Rain/grain and rains/grains is pleasing. The title is perfectly matched with the poem.

Tony