The rain comes-
and roads turn to rivers
The mountain peasant dances in thanksgiving
as the sun-weary crops drink deeply and revive
A joyous shout applauds another thunder clap
Goats and dogs quench a days-old longing and
wish they could store the liquid bounty,
like tiny camels
Little boys strip naked, glad to lose the dust
and glisten, brown and beautiful
without shame
Kivets are brought to catch what drops they can
of precious water
of precious life...

Lapli vini-

And in the city slums
the rain comes, too
and roads turn to rivers
Sewers overflow and the shanties are awash,
a foul smelling Venice ripe with squalor,
death,
disease.
The leaky house that fooled the sun
cannot fool the rain
and a mother cries
that there will be no dry place to lay her hungry child

Lapli vini...
and the angry sun is sated for a while
In all of Haiti, people pray.

August 8, 2000 Gros Morne, Haiti