For The Sunday Muse prompt #121. After Emily Dickinson.

Hope is the thing
that shimmers
in the distance
the faint light
flickering in the
brooding stillness
of the afternoon heat,
the persistent promise
that this thirst, this
longing for restoring
will be sated by rain.
It is the pulse
quickening with the
lengthening shadows
of evening and the
return of familiar
sights to the eyes.
It is home
calling the lost son
to return to the
dangerous duty
of tending.