Rain

This is what came from the first set of words this morning. I think it is anyway. It’s not like the Oracle’s usual style and I don’t even remember writing it. Brain is very blurry with this thing I’ve got.

Rain

Petals open beneath the rain,
flowing into cupped flower bowls,
running over, seeping, sinking,
among root systems we never see,
too intent on the sky, the clouds, a day ruined.

Nothing seeks entertainment the way we do,
infinite technological possibilities,
and we worship only the sun,
unimaginative as potatoes, the stones in the road.

In the drip-drip of drops from glistening leaves,
bending grass stalks and the swaying heads of buttercups,
birds sing.

Come hell or fescue-high water,
birds sing, filling tree-sails,
rocking on the ocean swell of damp meadows.

Birds skim, food-questing, chick-feeding,
abseiling the slanting shafts of rain, hawk-like,
when mice scurry.

Life lives, broad and wild,
while we sit, glum, despondent,
picking through the bright insect-rapid fluttering
on a tiny screen.