with less certainty is something
I never prepared to lose
most of my life mangos & limes
arrived bright from Mexico
out of season—rot on counter—
we’re trying not to waste now
everything grown precious
each morning now, I notice
the sky a little different
yesterday & tomorrow’s grey
blind white, rain intermittent
blue last evening, I knelt
beneath our Japanese maple
its ten thousand hands trembled
above me in red blessing,
my fingers pulled at dark soil,
left white roots exposed,
dying in piles, one evening,
one tree’s liquescent body
like august’s flames & my family
needs more water than falls from
summer’s unrelenting dry
earth heaves beneath human desire.
Normal never sustainable—
a complex—lightning strikes
and fire, fire, fire.
