The invisible movements
bring the storm.
The branches respond, as do the greenest grasses;
Faces of hidden ones twitch,
their noses active to the shift-
they need not see,
they know.
Bring the dry in from approaching rain,
place that needing purification
out to wash
in these sky rivers.
The small things, they come
and come and come,
and in the release of their pleasure
more space is created.
Just as, in the endings,
(for they come
and come and come),
the freeing makes room for more.
These tides rise and fall,
rise and fall,
in me
in you,
let us rejoice in the perfect imperfection,,
We’ve always one another
to hold and
let go…