Black Rain

Olive trees cup the black rain
in their patient palms,
Mountains writhe with
sweating grief
Stray dogs nose puddles
into a liquid midnight.
Bird wings smudged with
sky's sorrow,
their voices unravel
into hesitant threads of sound.

Decree has passed through the valley
"Leave now"

How does a forest pack its life?
How does a mountain relocate?

Olive trees try to pull up their rings,
gathering silver leaves as a photo album.
Mountains call softly to the rats
to dig homes inside their ribs
for company.
Birds cover their breeding crest
with soot and rush to the eclipse.

Wind waits to capture
prayer breaths before escaping
trying to bundle its own voice
outside abandoned sanctuaries.

Only stones stay behind
believing a new age
will need their weight.