The benediction in the air—
A lizard, translucent and newly-broken
From its shell, kisses the earth
At sundown, repeating the ritual dance
Of marsh and cloud dragons.
My best friend Grace says baby lizards
Are messengers, presaging heat or rain.
She believes in omens: earth calling
The littlest creatures to drink
The first mists of evening.
Who is to say it is instinct, merely,
Or moisture-need, that makes us
Crawl or bend our lizard lips
Unto the ground? Dusk cools our fevers
And there is joy in this surrender.
Even now, the tips of bamboo leaves
Hold watergems. In the early evening air
I remember Grace, and somewhere,
An old gecko clicks its rhythmic
Yes yes yes.