Deluge

on its loom of gold, its latticework
of lightning, rain pours
from Heaven into your seeing

weeks, months, lifetimes since
last the sky released
such a fury of Truth

if you were the Buddha you could hear
in thunder a universe
of flowers blooming

might even don this wet
surrender as a robe -- gusts
of wind turning

Love to velvet . . . might walk right into
that holy fire -- lakes
of wisdom forming in

the craters left
by your
enormous

steps. . .

Elizabeth Reninger