Rain at Waimea Falls

This is sacrament

and benediction, to feel

the joyous weeping

of skies in humid clime,

to have hiked

to valley heights

to see the spill

of shushing, rushing

flow. Warm,

wet air breaks

like new sentences

with punctuation

of rain upon bared

shoulders. The dialogue

between sky and stone

tells us

“Shhh.”

Everything grows full:

sodden leaves with rivulets,

divots in the path with puddles,

my head and heart with calm.