Til then, there's nothing else to do

Rain, I call on you

To wash away these lines upon my face.

Fall harder

Til it hurts

Whip my skin

Drown my pain

In nature's tears;

Wash away this painted mask

Awaken me with cold;

Ruin me

Melt me

Drive me to the ground;

Break me into all my parts

Til all that's left

Is seed.

From which, one day soon,

Like a nugget panned clean in the stream

I will soften, crack, and

sprout soft shoots anew.

To rain:

Is to carve the ground with grief,

then grow

a budding leaf.