When the rains come

and they have,

and they have –

the porous ground pulls in nutrients,

cane toads wake up from a long,

long slumber.

 

It has been dry in Hawai’i nei,

we have all been thirsty

for this liquid manna pouring forth

from the socked-in heavens;

breathe it in,

ears attuned to the dance

as it slides off metal rooftops

and collects in the pockets

between spongy grasses

and decaying fronds.

 

Envisage liver red worms

slithering freely as they convert

crumbling soil, nourish starving saplings

while half-ripened bananas arch

on rugged stalks, filling fruit

as the figs and the foliage

and the birds and the bugs

merge a chorus of thanksgiving

drowned out in this happy deluge.