Will it be another day of monsoon?
Clouds billow in from the north.
The world talks now, repeating once and again its wild call in short whistle.

Breath, breathe, sound
Breath, breathe, sound
And the tempo changes just slightly
From the throat of the unseen bird

Surrounded by shadows and sun
This poppy blooms all summer
Swift movement of white on blue
Moths flutter by to a dark, dry roost

The three of us watch the clouds
Growing in thickness and color,
Request a few more moments of sun
Turn our soil for the rains.