It builds. Up.
Down, it pours.
The banks fill. Up.
Dry they stay.
The reserve.
It tenses. Closes. Opens.
Up.
The storm is near.
The tense. Past future.
The dry. Spell.
The tense, now.
Flushing down the ups, the slops, the hopes.
In the blink of a drop, it grows.
Back.
The barren, the sterile, the harvest. Ready.
The banks, dry.
Curved, like hands scooping up.
The horizon vibrating, the thunder of a dry spell.