It had rained and rained. All day we thought, how wet
Will the ground be? How green the grass?
And the birds, all of them, shook their million
Feathers and sang their songs and it stopped.
The sun did not sap though we felt it
And everything alive was still
Drinking what had been afternoon
Inhaling the mist
Mediatating the wetness of it’s peculiary body
How could anything ever be so clean?