the first rain

grey skies roll

clouded tropical

undercurrents

of future falls

shrouding skies

and shifting seas

from sad-eyed lowlands

to mountain highs

and we as trees

shiver branches

ever extending

shootings in the breeze

at arm’s reach

we never touch

planted

too far apart

and as such

falling droplets

slip through fingers

and shatter the ground

an endless coming down

our roots soaked through

spent

and craving more

all around

aroused from slumber

the petrichor grows

slowly floating up

and filling the air

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