Born

Born...

 

The rain came

and through the sky

It fell.

 

Made mud cradles

filled fish homes

and a farmer smiled.

 

Water ran,

 

worsted wills healed,

the silver beads found

green corn,

while she washed

in a brown cherry bucket.

The last of his love,

drawn by soft sponge.

 

Locusts made quiet.

The thunder’s wind pushed,

thin air grew cool

as low clouds grew muscle.

 

Sunlight was there,

in the wake of rain.

And,

as the river rose,

one mighty inch,

her water touched new soil.

 

An egg,

was found,

and you were born.

 

Hayward 98