Cold soaks pierce the calm,
feet take flight, skim rivulets;
in the sting of sweet water
running through the rain.
The meanings of spring rains take hold
grasses shed excess and concrete sieves
conform to the needs of the moment-
clouds spill and we become
the windy mix of hurry and reflex.
It should be thus, the plants and I
in a bow and revel for we all grow
in the wet and green; but so far removed
from the smell of lightning
so far distant from echoes of thunder
modern man- in leather bound feet-
cannot joyful, thrash in the
bounty of rains, not well wish each drop
for the nurture of a seed.
We cannot fathom the ultimate need, yet we
creatures of love and fear, sea born and
in this blend of wind and popping drops;
I find a soul satisfying melody.
I listen... as I would hear wisdom of the world
I sense... as if I were a forgotten dry place
I know my skin drinks-in this day
am soaked again in what makes me:
the water's child.
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