murmur, not of air, but weight,
A softening at the garden gate.
A single drop---a shattered diamond—
Upon the cheek of the despondent
Earth. Then two. Then suddenly,
A hushing, rushing harmony.
It was not loud, at first, but deep,
A promise that the dust would keep,
A slow unclenching of the air,
A baptism, everywhere.
The rain! It spoke on every leaf
That clung in miniature relief.
It drummed a liturgy so old
On roof and road, a story told
In beads that strung along the wire,
A cleansing of the ancient fire.
It seeped into the gaping cracks,
Filled forgotten river-tracks,
And to each root, a probing thread,
It brought the living word, and said:
“Awaken from your earthen sleep,
The vigil that you swore to keep
Is over. Drink, and be remade.
Be no more lonely, nor afraid.”
And underground, a stirring woke,
