Rain In A Foreign Land (Memory of Rain)

The past is foreign to me
but I remember rain.
The land will not remember me but
her and I will recall the same.
 
How I turned on her earth  
in the crushed grass with the
burden of thirst and so, too
waiting in vain
 
To be remembered by her people,
yet no one saw us in that Summer's frame.
Our union was but a moment as
my bare skin touched her and she
brushed my thighs.
 
But I did not belong to her
nor her to I so I moved along, away.
And as I turned from her to leave
the sky turned dark and it rained;
as if to say, 'Don't forget me,
I am as thirsty as you  
to be remembered'.
 
    .....