Rain held dominion
the afternoon we became witches.
A globe was spun
every time my shovel hit the earth.
We buried talismans in the rain-soaked dirt,
gathered stones, drizzled twigs,
arranged them in a circle.
Sitting in our puddled clothing,
we sank into the ground,
stones and twigs surrounding us.
Tree rings witnessed another spin
of the globe, the sound of bark cracking.

—David Clink