If Rain Were To Turn Crystal – Jacob T. Reilly

    If Rain were to Turn Crystal

If rain were to turn crystal in the air—
When the dove coos, grey squirrels on the branches stare,
And the sun overwhelms the vernal sky
Precipitous with pregnant import—and cry
Diamonds, like graupel, on the muddy ground,
We would want
To read them like some prophetic font—
Some Ezekiel, some Daniel, some John—
To imagine them into the very words we’d burnt
Onto the soiled walls
Of our public bathroom stalls,
And we would grope
After them until all were gone,
Swallowed down like hope,
In the condemned man’s gulp, into the soil,
So late deprived of drink. To sacrifice life-liquid
For the Midas spoils
Of commercial-gems would be to rid
The earth of nature—is the earth of man
So grafted to a twisted abandon
Of his imaginings as to be warped
Past nature? When the diamonds fall
And litter the furrows like sterile seeds, twinkling sharp,
There shall be no crop and the barefoot-boys’ feet
Shall bleed. The vengeance complete,
The imagination shall overdose itself,
If all the rain were to turn crystal.


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