The Dry Season

The high impelling whineof your dog earedslap me around a little morethis time,and the wine pours so sweetlyin the broken glassand you hold me so nearlybut there's nothing more of mentionbetween the two of us.My head's banging rosariesover the coffee and the emptyeggshells scatterdby a thousand yearsof crawling from my kneesto stand erect;with my bronze helmetclosely packedand my shattered mindsinging in the empty breeze.For the rain is never coming,and this drought that holds usin its brittle gripis snapping at my fingerswith the dry litany of the empty arkwhere Noah sleeps.We are never comingtwo by two,this split is irreversibleand I notice the wayI felt for youhas scattered the dustacross the fallow groundwhere only irritation isholding us togetheruntil the promised deluge.