he was the soft rain
during the arson attack at the chapel
a place meant for love, someone so determined to burn down
until he gently said "not now,"
and slowly, but surely, the fire smouldered out.
the first responders didn't understand -
"was it some miracle?"
something biblical?
maybe simply incomprehensible.
like the way a monsoon hits, all at once - spotty, but absolutely impossible to ignore during its midst.
while one roof caves, another garden flourishes -
that's about how he nourishes.
he's the strong tide rushing loudly against my calm beach day,
the kind that forces me to get my toes wet and curate the bravery to go deeper -
first my knees,
then the hips,
allow the stomach (god, the bellybutton)
once it hits my chest, I'm calmer.
my head goes under and I submit to the sea.
as usual, a swift warm push awakens me and reminds me to get up and
live.
as soft as a thought, as warm as the sun, as harsh as the waves and as real as the fire at the chapel on that forgotten dreary day.
our hearts beat together as if they were curated on the same tempo, the rhythm of life is alive within him, within me,
within us
just let it be.
