Fever

Long before the autumn rains,
the settled dew greens
the land’s grazed face.

Mother lifts our fevered head,
offering one small spoon
at a time.

It is the air itself that saves us.
Night’s cool cover, a cloth
on our burning face.

We long for a downpour, forgetting
we need only a little, often.
One teaspoon of mercy.
One well-timed act of grace.