the rain loves the earth by extinguishing
the sweet burn of day, smoothes the dry furrows
with wet blunt fingers, signals each visit
by taps on the door. it does not forget
to wake the buried seeds warm in their beds,
gently thrums until each pokes out a head
first yellow. darkening when the sun comes
loam crumbs, brown earth melts under water’s welts
succumbs to its cool press, the balm of day
gives up the shoots. the stems are gentle spears
beneath the disconnected leaves—
a trail,
a snail gnaws at the tender flesh of stems.
the raindrops follow the curve of its house
glint a sparkle and seep into the ground
—from Mortal