the whisper
of countless dead
and withered
leaves little
to the imagination

parched branches
like ancient bones
dug up and scattered
from their long pilfered
and forgotten tombs

they lie stacked
like bodies
waiting
for that final corporeal act
the return to soil

too dry for a fire
i muse in my privilege
as unknown gallons
sprinkle and spray
upon the blessed ones

if it would just rain
but then the mind wonders
and ponders as millions elsewhere
violently displaced by the floods
dig out what little is left of their lives

and prepare to vote

Peace/Love/Vote

m(-_-)m