Seared
by Laura Johnson

Damp grass soothes my skin;

Skin that seems to want

to do more than just remember

the rain and all of its ferocity.

Now, long after it has settled

into the moon's paler whisper,

the scent of scorched earth

lingers of fire chasing grass.

I still hear the stalling

of embers confronting rain

and feel the switch of sparks

moving from earth to rising wind.

The embers hold their course,

discontent, beneath my skin

as I pace within my madness

waiting for you to recite the rain.

~Lj~