Assassin of the Cloudless Sky

I returned in triumph to the desert
And found it to be raining.
As the cool, refreshing moisture bathed my flesh
I found my happiness in question.
Does the desert cry for lack of rain?
Or does our deepest misery misplace itself
Beneath the veil of some more noticed deficit?
“I am unhappy,” speaks the masked assassin
As we project his blame unto disguises
Fearing beyond fear to look upon the face of sorrow
And so does anguish stalk our fumbling herds unseen
While we point frightened fingers at a cloudless sky
With none to recognize the dagger’s bite,
We blame our agony and blood loss
On a lack of rain.