I’m jealous of rain,

for its tiniest diameter rings great beauty,

and though there’s an increase here

pounding against window drum,

   

            I cannot compare.

My heart lives

like a knife

and the way it dices a tomato clear,

a redness so moist annexed by visible seeds.

 

I rather be inside those clouds,

obscure and full of luminous powers,

liberating waters,

and renew existence on earth.

Maybe, just maybe then,

I could descend

upon every person who loved me

with insurmountable gentle worth.

 
 
© 2016 from Art Cure: un-alone in poetry by Mario Gabriel Adame