The Watermelon Waits

And Waits
And Waits
to go and grow
in love and wisdom and stature
alone and singular
as the
waterfall's hush
water orb red
above a desolate city
the wait for lush
the wait for hand shaped clouds
palms full of rain
in a season of death
still life reaches
expands and breathes
the vine finds empty paws
and feeds and befriends
the forgotten raccoon
for lilies of the field
 and the birds of the air
never loved so much
as a lost and lonesome bandit
in the dusk of Gods day