| | Tears Make Gentle Rain Why do you do this?
I want to befriend and love you.
With your honeysuckle sweet flower
you seduce me in spring with powerful fruit,
and in autumn with wild olive.
Like that wild olive, you run rampant
over my soul. You keep me
from windows and doors,
and refuse to give me room to grow.
Now, despite the pale, I fear a marauder
in my sacred space, my garden, my soul.
I watch you, tangled in your own dark wilderness
as snakes trip you and hungry insects
sting to get the spring fruit.
This wild creation was made to entrap me,
but as I donate boughs to florists, I find flowers
hiding beneath, free for the first time in years,
some simple, others elegant.
| I sit in my garden,
not bare landscape nor desert.
A goddess was waiting all along.
No, not hidden or secret,
but you are blind by your obsession,
and now, each tear you set me free to cry
comes from a seed you planted long ago.
My tears fall upon a living garden,
and cultivates golden beauty in my heart.
Tears make gentle rain. |
