Yours are the heavens and yours is the earth,
you set firm the globe and all it contains.
As if the clouds were not content to be
the nebulous shook over us--
violet wings soft fleeting--
the grey-thin skin over the blue body of sky.
As if they wanted to be
the soft hands over the world
touching the boundaries of things:
the edges of the myriad
leaves and fields' lifting
palms of wildflowers,
gradually, the delicate root-hair
beneath the bent blades of grass,
my looking up
as if blind
and feeling the rain
for the first time.