The Curve of The Earth

There's an ugly plant

in Africa.

A crusty star aloe,

looks like something a dragon

spit out when Adam was struggling

to pronounce wildebeest.

Its root holds dust dear as a child

and the flower bobs centuries old

under the sweltering Serengeti moon.

When the rain comes in buckets and tubs

in Northern California

I think of the thimble full it would take

to make the desert dance

and how Isaiah promised blooms

would supplant thorns.

My throat gets dry

as I argue.

If God meant for this,

then why is there that,

knowing full well

He asks the same thing of clouds

and neighbors.

I saw the curve of the earth there.

The horizon has that much play,

to bend things,

as if the earth has a choice to smile,

or frown.