Personal, Poetry

rain.

I love you

In the way

That the rain loves all

That it falls upon.

The rain kisses

The dirt, the smooth the light,

All turn to

Mud, slippery, dark.

She alters what she envelops,

But only temporarily,

Always temporarily.

When the rain stops,

Everything has a chance to dry.

Yet, all has changed into something new.

The dirt, molded by the pressure of powerful footprints,

The smooth surfaces, made rough from so many attempts to grasp on,

The light surfaces stained from a mixing of mediums.

My storm has passed.

I’m allowing you to dry now.

After you’ve been

Molded, made rougher, stained,

And I wonder:

Is it fair if I come and

Alter you again?

Or should I just allow you to

Continue in your new forms,

dried in the wake of my

wet chaos?

but perhaps the plants like the rain.

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