Many of us seem to be baking; considering whether we might fry an egg on the soles of our upturned feet. Here, a triad of poems, connected by their seeming ability to quench, to splash, to sprinkle a bit of moisture on whatever slightly disheartening notions might be visiting you in the heat of the day or the heat of the night. Pick one — or do as they do in America and gobble down everything in sight.
now is the best of all possible times:
you are sovereign unto your own authority
eternal, infernal questions of the spirit,
and one true answer
a prayer is the beat of a heart
that sings through the rain