rain will come
for the knobbed, buckled fingers
and left to right movements
of a hungry man
in a humid and fragrant
world of vertical trees.
there are sounds in his mouth
in his desperation, he calls them words
and they smell the same
as vacant, alien calls
pounding from the heart of the forest.
his son someday,
will dance this dance
and invent truths
to know everything worth knowing.
for now, rain will do.
can you taste it?
your past the roots the blood
do you remember
the Amazon?
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