The sky burns
while my broken parts yearn
for a downpour I’ve earned
and continue to earn, again and again.

The seasons move to music
that my ears refuse to hear
open only, expectantly, for the sound
of that great rain coming down.

The sky burns
while my broken heart yearns
mangled in ways difficult to discern.
The pieces that would not – should not fit
forced into compliance.

I need the sky to break as have I
to shatter
crashing down upon the space I occupy
until all the pleasantness is nullified
and I again can feel at home;

That place beneath the rain
where broken things are fed to grow.