Steady rain in the desert

beginning, literally,

while sitting in bed in early morning,

opening a book and reading aloud,

“It was a dark and stormy night,”

when sudden thunder cracks overhead

punctuating the end of the sentence.

Rainy days in the desert, not passing monsoons,

are rare.

The acequia flows briefly with braids of sandy water.

Thirst-yellowed trees drink to make up for lost time.

I hear it hitting the roof, falling from dark sky,

beading the window screen,

and exhale fully.