I am the rain. I’ve been falling all over life ever since I can remember. I can be gentle and I can be fierce. Purposeful. Relentless.
Every drop of me has to give life to a seed longing for water in order to spring forth. That hasn’t done much to contain my liquid nature, but then again, why should it?
I run through and over things; I fill every recess, every small hold; I run through cracks and splits; I run in earth channels and on body paths, spaces between muscle and bone, folds of skin so smooth.
I run down cheeks, sometimes disguised as tears, sometimes simply to mingle with them, hide them, be tears, rivers of them.
I run in floods or in trickles. I wash away sorrow, roadblocks, filth, barriers, pains, memories, old stuff. I pave the way to new things.
I am the sweat of the universe. I bring forth the ancient, the old. I hold arks full of life, I am full of life myself. I am everything, liquified. I am Apsu, Poseidon, Ol’ Man River, I am most of everything of substance, and in my innermost resides life’s desire: to meet with light, to spread myself thin under the sun, to sizzle in his gaze, to metamorphose.
Ah! To be part of the light! To fill the arid desert with diamonds on a midsummer Sunday noon!
I play with the sun. I dance through his rays, I hover while they hold me and mold me into rainbows. I lick the red soft skin of a poppyflower with the sun inside me, so full of pleasure I could just dry there. I quiver on the tip of an oh so fine blade of grass, holding him, deflecting his light, curving the whole world on my surface, a potion fit for fairies and butterflies.
I have games with the sun. I get all misty, I play hide and seek, I block his light with heavy curtains, but I can never win. I come from earth, he comes from space. I am strong but he is powerful. And over my wildest ecstasies forever hangs an olive branch, flies a dove.
I am ultimately his, like everything.
I am the rain.