View from the ghost of a mote of dust

Our land was dry. A desert waste.
Up in the sky, the sun burned down
Like lies. The angry waves
Of heat on high turned all to dust.

Once, the drought was broken for a while
When suddenly out of the sky rain fell
Like doubts. It tried to wash away
What we knew about the dust.

The rain fell long and dark and cold.
In songs we sang, the flood came down
Like wrongs. Those churning waves,
Boiling, rolled along. They ate the dust.

And us.

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