Earth dwells in a tent, suffused in light weakly estranged from darkness.
The lowering sky is a mordant mangkukulam, invisible. He eyeballs anxious passersby chary of tripping bolts of black magic.
Moisture wafting from the soil lingers indefinably like fine confection melting between the teeth.
The wind rises and falls. Stillness settles into a corner, waiting, a dog curling opposite the front door.
Expectancy is a recurring dream—pregnant storm clouds, the space between breaths, promise of a child, the moment before crossing over, hope that rises to heaven.
When the rain arrives, it bursts into flames.
The spectacle is electrifying: a flash flood, a sprinter bounding forward, a dog barking excitedly.
Originally published in New Asian Writing (May 7, 2015) at http://www.new-asian-writing.com/tag-ulan-by-gonzalinho-da-costa/