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Sunday, April 12, 2015

I Lie nude 4/12/15

I lie nude in the rain,
turning face down
towards the patience of earth.
Clouds breathe right next to me.
Together, we are moisture sometimes in waiting.
Around me, burst and pour give me perspective.
This water, carving to the ground, traces me.
Raindrops, like ants,
track a gravity path towards earthbound.
This is our intimate meeting,
like paper and ink at print.
I meet rain at wet in this way.
My hair is filled with clear liquid chlorophyll.
Each drop crossing me is making the spawning run.
Wind gathers me up
with many cool hands in a light massage.
Puddles that stare at the sky
are queuing into little theaters of wait.
Pools of where I-quick flood-into-words
are stark yet spilling out of me
into words that lay bare,
in the liquidity that per chance
could also, easily be yours . . .


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