We both laid with our
heads against the pillow.
The sun was slowly creeping,
while we were surely sleeping,
into our bay window.
I creaked open a tired eye
to peak, peak, peaking
at the man who lay beside me,
sleeping.

I carefully crawled to the end
of our bed, trying
not to wake him.
I made some coffee, had a smoke,
went outside.
To toke smoke.
To toke smoke.

The garden is dry,
the flowers are brittle,
like my body at this
time of day.
Everything dry, dry, dry,
but could be revived,
somehow, eventually.

Sitting out there, just
think, think, thinking
a thought came suddenly shrieking.

Can it rain?
Can it rain?
Can it rain all day?
I asked God.

I felt a hand cross my
bosom and another
wrap around it.
I peaked up and it was
just him. And he said
"Looks like it's gonna
be a nice day. You should
tend to the garden."