After the Rain
I love you after the rain.
Your hands cold and nose pink, your plastic jacket drippy with dew.
After the rain, you smell like God.
Perfect and pure—you collect drops that fall from Heaven to mix with mud and make leaves.
Reincarnation of precipitation; Christ in condensation.
After the rain, you remind me of the mountains.
Crisp and clear, I can see Everest in your eyes.
I see it behind the blue—the rush of winter wind in summertime, brought on by your altitude.
Your rumpled hair kissed by cloud-drops, locks and lashes made heavy.
Muddy boots tracking dirt, showing where you’ve been—imprinting your past on the present.
I can feel trees and wind and rivers wide through your saturated shirt—dripping onto my hands, baptizing me as I hold you.
The droplets on your lips are safe and we keep them, knowing where they came from and to whom they belong.