Acacias

Rain, rain, rain; rain soaks the soil, runs down the streets, overflows the gutters. Rain soaks through my skin and saturates my tissues. I've grown soft and water-plump as the worms that crawl the sidewalks, flooded out of their dark homes.

Men dying in the desert hallucinate from thirst; I hallucinate from water-intoxication. I see acacia branches scribbling thorny blackness against the swift furious dawn. There is no dew. In an hour, the dust will be hot enough to smell and the resting lions will search for shade. The ground will burn my feet under the leafless trees.

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