Fifty-Six

The pitter
patter of
the rain
reminds me
of the transience
of time & the
eternity of White Light.

each
drop only exists
as it falls, our
lives only exist
as we live them

But the White
Light is in everything!
In the cool air that
hangs after a rain, in
the shaking of the
leaves in the wind, the
damp smell of quiet
grass

The White Light
does not speak the
language of
Time
and in that
we can
rejoice