the day after the ten-year drought ended

nothing would dry
we hung towels on the back porch & we pressed freshly showered footprints into the hardwood & we pulled the sheets out of the wash & we scrubbed the countertops of the grit & grime & gorgonzola & we cleaned the blood between our legs best we could & we pushed tears across the sodden wasteland of our cheekbones & we couldn’t see our reflections in the foggy mirror, much as we tried, & we felt the sweat drip down our necks & we remembered we had necks & we watched condensation form & refuse to die & we watered the basil & it nearly drowned & we opened our mouths & those jaws of starvation prayed for salvation, or was it solvation, & we found flowers growing in the shower tiles, or maybe it was black mold, but it grew nonetheless, life persists, & we sat under the windowsill as the moon wept above & we understood for just one minute why the sea has tides, why our tears disappear into thin air, why the puddles & lakes & rivers & oceans evaporated overnight,
& we understood, for just one minute, why all water seeks to rise