< The Rains Came >

Step back, heels in a mud puddle.
Better on your ass, than your knees…

A crow clears his throat,
shits on your head-
Remember:
The trees grow long,
branches to roots
  surmising
            your
                       
                        fingers;

throwing anchor smack in the center,
the palms of your hands.
Their direction is Up,
and yours follows strands to whichever
directional Heaven you crave knowing the most.

M. Lucia