Not rain, the rain is less
passionate, but
cloud-chased lambs, drumming over
running hills,
shaken jackdaws crashing through
wind-shocked limes,
green-gold willow leaves roaring
to wet grass,
pollen-hungry bees beating through
blossom,
sunlight drenching down washed
air, wintered stone,
bird-song splashing through
opening windows,
root and feathering moss slipping,
dripping,
drifting from dreaming gutters,
sheltering tiles -
such reckless excess bursts the
seed-case soul.
(May,
1993)
