If the Rain Falls Down Now

Yesterday was hot, the dry air seared, it peeled away a breathy vapor from parched lips. It nailed down a flagging density to a baked earth. This morning there is rain falling, but it has yet to land, the sky creaks, wizened blooms rustle in their dry terracotta shelters. The electric background fizz of insects scratches at the windowpane. If I close my eyes the land might catch the rain by surprise, mouths may open everywhere. My fat dog might chase its stubby tail for the first time this summer.