I am 70% water and the drought
has come to an end:
drizzle falls from the sky like a sheet
that once held gods and hopes
between its folds-
breathless and pure,marvelous and sad,
I'm glad that umbrella died
in gray and sweet contortion,
with a wooden cradle for a grave!
this rain is Heaven sent
and I'm not trading emotion for
an illness woven by medicated thought!
it's rough and wonderful and stupid
how a baby-hurricane can open
the gates of such a frail kingdom,
it's on skin,piercing eyelids,rushing
through tired veins,flooding lungs
and connecting nerves-it's alive
and kicking,exhilarating,so strong,
yet so silent...a drop on a rock,
the shiver of a leaf,disturbed dust-
but it sings,it shouts,it conducts
a symphony beyond all years and hearts!
I'm dreaming in a storm and I'm letting it live
in a teacup...