After the Rain
After the rain had come;
after the cool hand of heaven spent its liquid gift;
Across this land's thirsty lips, quenching parched corridors of tree and
vine;
Renewing a bond as old as the mountains and the sea.
After the lightning's mighty grip released the earth and sky;
From the dance of blue fire, after the thunder's mighty voice was silent;
But for a distant echo lingering between the wisps of ozone.
After the wind's driving thrusts abandoned all efforts to topple the weak
or dying;
A mark remained upon the ground in every puddles muddy edge;
In every jagged rivulets course;
In tiny silver orbs covering every plant, bush and blade of grass;
In every stream who's bank runs full and brown;
In every field that holds the farmer's gift;
In every corner where the sacred drops had fallen;
No softer breath exists then that from cool moist air;
Filling the lungs with cleansing presence;
flooding the soul with memories that no cause or reason can revoke;
That no human can deny or creature can resist.
After the rain had gone a golden hand laid bright;
The meadows reach with tendril bands;
Piercing the clouds;
Driving the shadows from the hills;
Ending the day as all days should end;
With the warmth of the sun moistened by the kiss of the rain.

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