Drought makes the workers dream. Muscles and fields of green. Shovel the last few crumbs. Of generosity. Open hearts open mind open mouth open vein. Drain. Someday the rains will come. My blistered hands tell me. Tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow. BITE. BITE. BITE. CRY. I'll keep coming back. Smaller and smaller and smaller. Squash me. Smaller and smaller and smaller. Under the charity. Smaller and smaller and smaller. Under the topsoil. Smaller and smaller and smaller. Under the fingernail. Smaller and smaller and smaller. Then small becomes all becomes all........... BITE. BITE. BITE. CRY. It's not a mirage. It's not a mirage. Trickling downward trickling downward. It's not a mirage. Drain. Drain. BITE. BITE. BITE. CRY.