Dave Bonta's short poem is about climate change, seen from an odd angle: the rain itself is the one with faith in us. Water that has just fallen from a cloud "believes in us," as if nature were still trusting humans to do the right thing. But the next lines undercut that trust. We "eclipse the weather," meaning we have grown so powerful that our actions now overshadow natural forces.
The speaker then slips in a plain, personal aside, in brackets: it's so hot they cannot sleep. That small complaint makes the large idea feel real and uncomfortable. The final line says we are "mixing money up with heaven," confusing wealth with something sacred, or perhaps chasing profit as if it were salvation.
The mood is uneasy and quietly accusing. There's no shouting, just a tired, sleepless voice noticing that the world has become strange. The title's "weirding" fits that feeling.