coming down in big fat drops
like grapes dropping on the roof—
white grapes round as moons.
It is coming in waves
whooshing through the trees.
Silvery, intimate, it softens
and washes the parched air.
It falls on my face
like a blessing.
It sweetens my body
rolling down my upstretched arms.
The rain blesses us
as it opens the cracked earth
as it opens us to itself:
the sweet gush of August rain.
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