If love can freely fall like rain
it will lose none of its miracles, only
problems are everybody will know how
it works, how it ends, how it will come again.
Still I wish deeply for this day.
Images of love surface in watery mind
where old rivers overrun, each drop of rain
tells me what is gone returns eventually
to meet for warmth before everything
becomes familiar to calm soundlessly.
When the rain stops, leaving the leaves
radiant under the sun or street lights,
leaving my mind the same, but it's never
the same waiting for the next rain, looking
to the sky adoring gray.