One drop
to let the water
and soak into
the green ground.

This is my rib
bound to the truth:
that what was once lost
is no use recovering
what was planted long before
has grown wildly beneath the surface
and uprooting
would be a massacre beneath the seen.

And so the weeds stand tall
in fertile soil
as the grass chokes,
grey and wilting,

as the sky hangs heavy
preparing to flood,
the Earth waits
for anything:
one drop.


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