Rain Song

Brick paths,
mirrors of January rain,
coerce my consciousness into age
and whisk away its imposed innocence.

Dead leaves,
immersed in winter's waterfall,
lie down to rest and raise
the left soil to new heights again.

Beaded grass,
length-streaked with dewdrops,
leans westward, straining under the weight
of these stones of water.

Living eyes,
stained by myriads of tears,
look upward to the darkening clouds,
and bathe, suspended by strands of falling rain.