My children are the rain

My children are the rain

Watering this thirsty planet.

At the cry of the earth they leap up

And fly to dry places,

Cooling burning tongues

And wetting parched lips.

 

Their mother is the air

Who bears them from the sky

And like the wind moves on

With a kiss like empty glass.

 

Our embrace was an empty room.

Our passion, stillness.

Our children became the rain.

They beat against the glass

And fell trickling to the floor.

 

At the cry of the earth they were swept up

And carried to distant lands.

They are dashed against stones,

Lapped up by dogs, and

Collected in bowls for the sun to soak up

Like tears in an old man’s eye.