Thinking of Rain

The rain that slumbers

In the belly of an old

Cloud, wakes up and

Rumbles out; its

Elephantine body running

Wild, delivering green

And gold.

The rain that toboggans

Over the cheeks of the

Mountain and finds its

Way to the strawberry

Fields, reddening the

Fruit and the palates.

The rain that flies

Out of its hive and

Stings roses to sweet flow.

A tale of the sky,

The constant udder.

A tale of the earth,

The perpetual infant.

Consequences

I keep storing

Things

In the recesses

Of my closets;

They turn dusty,

Moth-afflicted,

Waiting--

Like unspent emotions.

An Attempt at Reconciliation

The future

Is burned

Before

It is born.

The past

Is reborn

As