Play My Part

Drop down upon me
the finest wine: rain
spilling off my shoulders
into the empty soil.

Sing the wind, its melody
twined with the voice
of the last tough grass cheering the moisture on,
its many-channeled throat wide open with joy.

Snow’s coming soon, perhaps
days from now, no more
than weeks away.  Maples and oaks alike
shudder, waiting for the burden to settle.

I soak it all in, the portents
and the fulfilled prophecies,
the whispering and the roaring.

I shall gladly forget my name soon,
surrender it to this symphony —
one instrument drowning, but for now, still there.