By Ofelia Zepeda

Nu-ku'ibadkaj 'ant 'an ols g cewagi.
With my harvesting stick I will hook the clouds.
Nt o 'i-wannio k o 'i-hudin g cewagi.
With my harvesting stick I will pull down the clouds.
N-ku'ibadkaj 'ant o 'i-siho g cewagi.
With my harvesting stick I will stir the clouds.

With dreams of a distant noise disturbing his sleep,
the smell of dirt, wet, for the first time in what seemed like months.
The change in the molecules is sudden,
they enter the nasal cavity.

He contemplates that smell.
What is that smell?
It is rain.

Rain somewhere out in the desert
Comforted in this knowledge he turns over
and continues he sleep,
dreams of women with harvesting sticks
raised toward the sky.