Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Drought

The frogs are dying.
Their once-bright and –jewel like bodies,
Now desiccated,
Lie in Pompeian attitudes
At the monumental feet
Of our driveways.
Gardens turned to dust
Blow over,
Smooth out
The patterns of old moisture
And cover those delicate toes,
Those buried treasures,
Our memories of rain.