everything green to grow

rigorous rain on a metal roof
sounds resentful.
like the earth if it could speak.
like wide-eyed souls,
shaking in the deepest corners of the world.
or a foaming turquoise sea
whose spine never shies back from the beach,
whose bones just keep breaking,
whose fingers run along the sand
as on the keys of an organ,
roaring towards the land without pausing for a breath.


And yet, what is it that makes you so beautiful?

Is it the thunder that accompanies you?

No, that just makes you irresistible.

Is it your lucid color
or your ancient smell?
Or the parade that you pull behind you,
Like a traveling circus,
packing up and leaving when all the acts have yielded their applause?


Perhaps it is the way you bleed on the earth with your cleansing drops of wisdom

teaching everything rooted to green


and everything green to grow.
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