the mercy of the heavens
yesterday the mountain spoke
with a raspy, parched voice
green going to brown
supple turning to crisp
today the clouds heard and answered
with half a day of rain
and such chill damp
that I split wood and lit the stove
tomorrow I will go out
into the newly wet and green world
to smell loosed resin and steaming duff
and recollect the appearance
of a simple answered prayer
