sometimes, late in the afternoon
when the rain sings no more
i walk over white sidewalk squares
my feet like moving fingers
gliding on the concrete keys
the motion of my rhythmic feet
making silent music
in a deafened world.
sometimes, in the latter evening
when the torrents return
i run barefoot in the pudding-soil
jumping into the muddy wash
freed to raise my silent hands
despite the whipped-up wind,
my dance a tale of worship.
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