~September 2019

Your voice drops
into my tired tattered soul
like the soft drizzle of Autumn rain
drops across the withering leaves
in a dry dying orchard after harvest.

Your voice drops
into my shaky shattered spirit
like the wash of deep hard rain
drops across fire-cracked earth
filling the deep-graven lines of desert.

Your voice drops
into my fragile frail heart
like the splashing plops of Spring rain
drops across fresh-born flower petals
newly breathing in the bright light of a garden.

~Photography Marissa Mullins (c)2019