THE LATE RAINS
The late rains
came.
Under a dark sky
all felt illumined.
Defiant brightness
refused the blanket of gray,
like a lantern dangling
rebelliously at a cliff’s edge.
I scattered them
like stardust
over the thirsty earth.
Millions flew
out of my hands all at once
into the windy downpour.
Each speck
of seed
carried a restive core,
the great awaiting –
for days, months and years –
for the impossible moment
made real.
Which would become
sprout, stem, leaf and flower,
I would not know,
I cast them as I cast my words upon the world.
I know not which ones
will burst into life,
but I trust in this task.
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