on faith

2 Corinthians 4: 7-12

the month before the rains come,
there are bright yellow flowers, 
bursting from the bare-branched Cortéz, 
going about the Lord's work evangelizing:
they shout color to the creatures
surviving in desolate places 

the month before the rains come,
thorny michigüiste limbs soften— 
sharp teething buds unspiral to reveal 
burgeoning leaves with pink-fuzz edges
to shelter sun-weary cattle herds from the scorching 

the month before the rains come, 
there are guanacaste seeds, swelling in their pods, 
while the hot wind shakes them down 
and leaves nothing behind but 
clear, empty skies and 
the cracked earth crying out, 
open-mouthed and full of dust 

the month before the rains come, 
the first flota since the new year arrives: 
marañones and mangos
tamarindos and aguacates,
fruits flowered, set and ripened 
during these unforgiving dry season days 

the month before the rains come,
there are a few hard-pressed ones 
perplexed ones,
struck-down ones, 
who lavishly lay the table for feasting, 
shower strangers like me with 
so many clay-kissed treasures—
where do they get it all from?

oh, that wearying month before the rains comes, 
can you see the signs? 
isn't that life at work in death, 
bringing forth abundance? 

no hoarded wealth of water withheld 
no signs of penny-pinching sweetness 
creation gives and gives and gives 
the month before the rains come

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