by MARILYN HUMBERT
From the porch
the grey light of dawn
bruises limbs heavy from restless sleep:
night unable to quell yesterday’s heat.
A kookaburra’s dry-throated croak echoes
as the sun’s flames lick the horizon.
Over the fence
three thin-ribbed cows strip bark
from stooped peppercorn trees.
A fitful breeze stirs limp leaves.
Glints catch my eye, the dam
now a sunstruck puddle.
Thunderheads gather,
Stronger wind gusts
roll across barrenness
all the while scooping up soil
building a wall east to west
hazing the sun
and the sky rains grit
fills our seared lungs with silt
to bury hope.