Rain down Pure Joy
upon my cheeks:
tears, mine and the skies
to share.
Water, water, no taste, no form,
Gives itself to herbs and fruits and grains
and us.
Pure Joy upon my lips
and in my veins, may I flow into my truest
form — formless.
One with all that becksons.
Presence with the world.
Presence with the flow.
Oh sweet rain help these seeds to grow!
May I reap what I sow,
these teardrop seeds of my soul.