People planting seeds
in red ant stings
watering with their
lives and faith
for rain is rare
where indian red
nestles in a bed
of sage

A place
where house is made home
out of dry dirt
where smiles are cakes
baked by the sun

And love
is but a reason to wake up.

The flowers grow
watered on faith
for that’s all they know
“Feed us again
in our dry garden bed”
speaking song
for that’s all they were taught
“Feed us again
we long to bloom in the sun”

The mountains bow down
ancient in their praise of hope
held highest, a valley where
the tears have run dry
but the cracking skin is still alive
Nurtured to live by what little
the melting winter days still give

. And the gardens sing
“Sing to us again
in our dry garden bed…
Sing to us again…
we grow weak
without the faith of your song”

Straw all we’ve got to shelter
from a cold world
World all we’ve got to keep us going
know we’ve been shown
something worth holding.
Smoke thick sticks throats to
cracking notes
It’s burning down around us
but still we sing
to the flowers
“grow little hope
And bloom in the blue sky”
The rivers are running dry.

“Find a root
and I’ve grown in the driest ground”
The sparks fly to set more afire
“Fly before our petals burn but we buried our hearts here”
Drinking up God
From the dry ground.
Breaking bread.
All that’s left of life
is pocket change
and smiles to trade
spend it wise
while we’re alive
buy what can never be ours
build love,
build strong
still it breaks down

At last
we’ve learned
to sleep sound
on the dry ground.

Dream Sweet Dreams, though our beds have all burned.