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Rain Rite
Laurie S. Sherman
From the forthcoming collection desert water

The first thunder rolls over the house like an old name spoken in another room. Then the waiting air. Then the sharp dark of clouds assembling where an hour ago the sky had been all refusal. When rain comes the whole yard changes liturgy. Gravel darkens. Leaves bow. The dry channels remember their lines. The frogs, somewhere hidden, take up their brief ecstatic office. For twenty minutes the yard speaks in water. By morning the channels are dust again, but the earth keeps the scent.

