The rain, drops of rain, each
dance with different sound,
expire with a different pound;
it beats its heart into my soul.
The graceful beauty of falling heights,
and death’s delight.

The rain, my area of rain,
proudly shivers down
with a soft hissing sound;
it drives its cells into my soul.
This sky-ocean of Life’s great might,
and death’s delight.

The rain, my feeling of rain,
is an atom to atom exchange,
where fusion expands my ground;
and I make a groaning sound -- in my soul.
The fluidity of cycling flights
is death’s delight.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 8/17/04