Dry Lake Poem by Steven Federle

Rain lurks
behind clouds
too thin
to send drops,
puddles,
surging waves.


flash floods go north,
to green Seattle,
easy landfall,
where no resistance is
ever given by
sandy bottom or
rocky shore.

There the ancient
desert lies
beneath tons
of breathless redwood,
dreaming of hot,
days, dry
winds.

Oh Emerald City,
so unaware of the pain
and joy of drought,
endless blue days
of aching sky,
summer's
harsh eye
in January
glaring

as slim clouds
rush by
hopeful
of a shower,

only to evaporate
to dusty twisters.