Longing For… Rain Poem by Glen Kappy

August and no monsoon—not yet.
With sky this morning dark
the wind with hint of moisture
the distant rumble
I wonder which is first—
the longing in me
that reads it into all I witness?
Or that which surely comes
from trees then down into the ground
all parched and needing drink?

The gusts which bow the trunks
and shake the leaves and branches
and whistle through the open window—
is it in me or all outside—or both—
that read these signs as urgency?