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Rain
The prairie beseeches the lightening.
The tall, dry grass waves at each passing cloud -
Come! Come!
Everyone pulls on shirts and coats
except you.
You strip off your clothing -
all but a pair of shorts.
Water hits your naked shoulders
and runs down your chest.
You stand bare faced
looking up,
accepting this gift of grace
for what it is
and nothing more.
The thunder passes on,
whispering back to us
from distant mesas and unseen cliffs.
You are the only one
with dry clothes to wear home.
You are the one I remember
when I see the tall grass bend
beneath the rain.
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