What The Rain Brings, Leaves

 

The mandarin orange tree glistens with spider webs in rain.
Each shivering fruit consumes my heart. Black leaves
circle green as robed druids preparing what is living
for sacrifice. Like the tree, something in me is dying,
but this brings no more news than the rain.

Clay becomes cream beneath the downpour, suffocating
each tender root longing to be shaken by storm.
Every gesture of protection promises a similar fate,
so like the spider I move towards the storm, trembling.

Ripened globes fall to the ground as suns, powerless
against a gravity greater than burning. Like the red giant
my desire expands, explodes, till no substance remains-
only trace elements, seeds scattered in ground and space,
migrant lust awaiting new birth.

The taste of distant stars bursts succulent in each bite.
Even the rain cannot wash this away.

 

--Dane Cervine

 

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