It is hard
to describe
how the rush of
          the drench
of a furious
     storm makes
my downpour
             clench
wet desert wind
that sparks me
                   alive
sending currents
from the whorls of
                my scalp
down through the
rings of my spine
It trips over
                  dermis
like kimono silk
thick as the cream
of lapped-up
              milk
alighting my
senses in
rose quartz tints
igniting cells
to my surface
with earthed-up flint
The strike of rocks
echoes ancient
           sounds
reverberating heat
throughout my scared
                        mound
And I let the rain
pour directly in
to my soul's
humble vessel,
cleansing me,
     rinsed
from relentless
        spirit-wrestle
free of stains
from self-doubt,
         self-hate
to align my vision
with choice-infused fate
and I am the storm
that swirls through
the trees
I am the dream
whipped up thick
in the breeze
ready for surrender
as I pull the reigns
ready for the tender
conflagration
         of the
sacred
      blaze