Out of touch remains this ground from the earth -- its color baked brown and texture, a bit crumbled.
I can walk on grass without hindrance between my naked heel and the moisture, but I cannot be an earthworm digging soil – exploring depths in burrows of hunger.
If only clouds would measure thirst of this earth before they condense or begin to disperse I could learn to ignore a flood or famine -- all akin to nature and spread my palms, always to collect as many drops it gives in its kind gesture.
