"There is thunder in our hearts / is there so much heat for the ones we love"

Today, I've been practicing choka, a long pre-classical Japanese form.


    At this time of year
at the rag end of monsoons,
    when the rains trail off
like the dregs of a party,
    when the heat remains
like a sauna stuck on high,
    when clear desert air
is a distant memory
    like a tale once told
by a comforting granny --
    at this time of year
it can be hard to believe
    in desert beauty,
in the comfort of dry heat.
    Once the sky was wide,
not narrowed by daily clouds --
    once mountains were sharp,
not softened by daily rains --
    once washes were crisp
roadbeds through hills and bosques,
    not mushy sand tracks
still damp from last night's runoff --
    once, and once again,
I tell myself, they'll return,
    those days of glory
when deep blue has no edges,
when thornscrub is forever.

Envoy

    I look at the sweat
on my cold glass of iced tea
    and remind myself,
this, too, shall pass in due time
like these drops roll down its sides.

---L.