Clarity

Rain changes everything. All
that falls before me feeds
gullies, builds streams, inundates
the path – a washing a way a torrent, the
treadings of sediment, a collection
of debris. What’s given gushes, what
pours puddles, much topsoil is displaced
without shove or shovel

Things will grow
differently now, as after a nourishing
conversation I recognize the sure
ground upon which we both stand. And so
I listen to what’s happening
outside me – the words river
wind, run. They wend across the skin
of things like curious hands. They stop
my meandering, stop who I am
enough to hear it is you. Out there. You
are a door I’ve never been
through, and into the clearing
sky I go

This late afternoon has a mind
of its own. Like opening arms
the clouds part. They are willing
to become what’s within. The world has been
planted for its harvest of spirit – for all
life grows here. It is something
I have never seen that now
I see gleaming, like a road
out of nowhere, curving my way
where no way’s ever been, wild
red and blue flowers alongside
the wet black asphalt, green
grasses bending in the sudden wind. Maybe
a bird – nuthatch or sparrow, one gold
unending finch

Light floods in after so much
drench. Its wings extend. Its song
does nothing to drain the earth, plenty
to convey it. Throughout the night
light continues to reign –
no power other
than even more
penetrating compassion