I open my hand
For the rain's soft nose to touch:
Getting acquainted.
They hand me a box:
"Here is your mother."
Coarse sand?
It's nothing like her!
In my idle hands
Wet sand molds itself. That's it!
My dead father's face.
MAY
Lavender blossoms
color the sidewalk.
It's raining jacaranda.
URBAN WALKER
Elbowing back smog,
filtering exhaust, she strides
the concrete treadmill.
LIQUIDAMBAR
Green fingers apart,
leafy hands gesticulate
from narrow stem wrists.
LIVING WATER
Being salt, if I
do my job right, you will
long for the Thirst-Quencher.
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