Rainy Season
by Jess Walter
We travel to Thailand, hide our faces
behind masks of oblong leaves, dance
until the night sky buckles, bare
feet thumping rocky soil,
arms high above us, reaching
for the glazed heavens, until the war
in our chests quiets and the fire
we invented implodes on itself
in dramatic surrender. After, we dig
our toes and fingers into the ground,
into each other, broken trees
seeking water. The rum-stained sunset
is all the wealth we need. We know this
is foolish, but under trees stocked
with drowsy sparrows, the decadent
present is our elixir and we drink
ravenously.