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High Desert Monsoon
by Wayne Lee
Let the wind rip the last remaining leaves
off the cottonwood trees, the rainwater
surge like a tsunami down the arroyo.
We have coffee served in our favorite mugs,
mine with brandy, yours with chocolate.
We have Schubert on the stereo.
You sign Christmas cards at your desk,
address and seal the envelopes.
I write this poem sitting up in bed.
We have flannel sheets, cinnamon rolls,
candles scented with sandalwood.
The animals are all asleep. Let me sing
my gratitude for the roof over our heads,
the radiant heat underfoot, the comfort
of this home we have made together.
May you hear the silent call of my desire,
let your robe fall to the hardwood floor.
Let us celebrate another day of staying alive.
This is how we shelter in the storm.
This is how we remember the ocean left behind.
This is how we keep each other dry.