I almost expect the rain
to fall through me. That is how
porous it all feels sometimes.
If sorrow and joy
and fear pass through,
why not rain?
When drops gather today
on my arm, I stare at them,
amazed how they round on bare skin.
I want to let it all pass through.
At the same time I want to be solid
in the world so I might open my mouth to rain
and become part rain. Might open
my heart to love and become all love.
Want to feel myself held by the holy
and know I have never not been holy.
Want to hold the rain in my hand
and marvel how a woman so porous
can hold in her palm a miracle.