After the rain
Raindrops fall from the rooftop
into the open arms of the grass
seeping into the heat of the earth
drenching it with coolness.
And each passing wind
carries a whisper of promise
that something will be better
after the sky’s grieving.
A breaking of my soul upon
the twilight of my darkest hour
and the mild shadow of yourself
enters my dream, i wonder.
are you the promise that comes
after the crying of heaven?