Rain drums shamanic, insistent, determined, deploying liquidity,
reminding, rewarding, renewing all that it meets in downward fall,
washing, rinsing, removing and sustaining life in all its forms;
as if, the heavens had drunk deep, only to release at season’s call.
In all that sloughing, sundering, swallowing and liquid surrendering,
so do the angels watch, submissive, ordering the elements to rise,
that cycles of dry and wet may be set in harmonic, prayered emotion;
hope can speak again in drowning words, in certain beat with time.
The world does dance to rhythms worked in that which is unseen,
and monsoon cannot be held to any sure, or gauranteed account,
these daily drenchings come in ways both whimsical and flawed;
each atom does rejoice when expectations, reality can mount.