The rain knows it is nourishing the earth,
like poetry knows plains,
like each blade of grass has an angel next to it whispering grow.
You don’t need an ocean for ritual cleansing,
a lake to wash sin clean,
just tap water, a chipped teacup.
When I wake to a rainbow in my room,
I don’t count it as God’s promise,
but one of many divine sparks,
between late morning and the window.
Header image photo by Hannah Yerington.