John 3

Well, it’s always synergetic, lacing fingers with rain,
slicing clots from olive trees like a scalpel,
knotted leaves scraped away. Sometimes it just eases

down with the sun. Gauzy breath, piling torn branches
like ashes. With it’s oxygenating breath, it could rekindle
what smoulders. But facing abnegation, when backs turn,

it nips the drooping lobes of half-covered ears. It rushes
like blood toward the heart, climbing trees, only truly seen
when rippling over wide flung limbs that have been lifted up.