in the high desert country
Where the fibers of the clouds are so fine and move so fast
That every time you look up,
You are reminded that they are still thinking with you,
And the sun pours through them like fresh honey taken from the hive
So sweet and pure–
This rain reminds me of the You
That will always be. The You that still passes through my sensory perceptions like a summer storm–
When the rain washes through the mountains as it does throughout the summers,
I’m still reminded of a safe place I knew once, talking to you from a distance and I knew it to be a good thing.
At least there’s the summer rain here in the same place years later,
That rhythm of it falling within the liminality of afterthoughts in solitude,
And the good memories, the idea I had of the love, like the summer rains in Northern New Mexico breaking the silence with their music will always be there to wash away the idea of pain. The stillness.
It’s all ideas but you make the good ones worth having.
The pain, the love, the mystery, the rain
Aren’t for me to understand.
The smell of the wet sage filling the air when it rains
Is the exquisite smell of waking up after having been asleep one’s whole life
It’s the smell of a goodness
That’s too good to ever forget.
Too good to understand
And it’s better sometimes to remember to never forget it.