After days of faltering orange
down comes the drear
quick as a fit
rinsing cattle, turbines, whole villages
in bloodless pastels.
Only the red fox
eyes grinning, tongue-flopped
as he lollops by
makes reference to the copper rods
welded to my knuckles.
Days, cold and ceaseless, shiver
like small dogs,
gods mumble in an arbitrary way –
Bring down the rains again, I hear them say.