New Morning Rain by Kenny Stetson

It is seldom that I awake cottonmouthed and joyful
After a tiring night of dry nightmares

To the reality of rain, dripping rhythmically
On the sad tin roof outside our kitchen

To the sweetest smell of water, leaking into my room
Dripping from the leafy ovaries of our chestnut tree

Unbroken by the lewd monotony of drought
I will wash my face in the grey morning sky