Pivot

 Tarmac meltsrain bursts like popcorn: We are dried upseparated seeds dispersed. Land like stonehorse’s hooves split all hope driftslost in grey mornings. ‘Waiting’becomes seven syllablestattooed in blood. Hush descends,school gates open & all our sunburntchildren stream in buttoned tightfor learning. Late tomatoesripen on the stem shelves burstwith them & my words againobsolete; pen poisedfor another dive into darkness.