White

White sky. My
eyes are dusty
dry.  I wish I could
weep.  There's a
drought drawn-out. I
might have wept when my
father died. White
blood. His hair
white, he was white, I
wept at his funeral.  We all did.  Now I've
wept myself
dry.

Rain.
The plants drink. The leaves
flutter. My eyes dusty
dry and I'm
heavy as the rain-soaked
sky.