The Week of Rain

The unsuspecting mystics rose
at four in the morning
unaware of their own initiations;
the ground had
been fallow
since the last
harvest of love

And now the meteor shower
sent light to darkened hearts;
the grey moon dissolved
and fell like rain

I stood beside my liquid amber,
the tallest tree in my small garden;
at my feet lay bonsai-ed,
the ocean in a puddle of water
and in it everything infinite,
and all that we ever
needed to know.

© Tanya Southey