Let me be the rain upon your flowers
Each of us is but one drop of the rain,
gravity-pulled into the green violence of love.
One drop shaking the petals of her flowers, her roots.
One drop of the out-pouring of heaven’s grace.
One out of a multitude that falls upon her
begging for recognition, a connection, a sign or a sigh of love.
She, she wants me to know that I am one drop too.
One that has yet to fall completely. Falling. Falling still.
One that has yet to arrive; yet to be known
by the darkness of her soil, the musk scent of earth;
I am one that has yet to be stilled by her,
and once stilled by her, would be
accepted.
