Spring Rain

I don't believe in leaves in March

but here I am, showered full to bursting in May's nakedness

I didn't believe, but I knew the truth, they would come.

I rage,

I weep,

I break myself against the reefs of despair 

and sometimes I hate in the breaking.

I know it is wrong.

My heart is still just made of meat.

I had to will myself not to curse you in January,

not because I hate you,

but because January brings the pain I bargained with to become real.

Everyone wants an explanation,

or thinks they do.

January does not need a reason to make pulp of your body.

My questions are really just a plea to her hollow ears. 

Then in May forgiveness bursts in

she is an untamed child,

she dangles from the trees and cartwheels through the violets,

but talk to her and she shies from you. 

I see a beautiful world

but I am not the person to build it.

I do not listen enough,

do not forgive enough,

my opinions are louder than my ears,

but I want that beautiful world anyways. 

You do not need to listen to the rain,

quiet and clean.

To let it wash you, quaking

and carry this lonely night down to a place where you understand that the universe was always too vast for the incandescent confusion of your being to taper with.

You do not need to listen to the rain,

quiet and clean.

It does not hold onto anything.

To me you are the world

that I see,

that I saw,

that will see into me

and never see how exactly the oxygen trickles into my lungs, floods my blood, releases sunlight into me in every corner of my being.

Let me learn to listen to the rain,

quiet and clean,

tasting of God,

the only thing in your world

not fighting time,

not fighting you,

rushing into the meat of my heart

and sitting full and empty.

Let this be my promise to you.