when words are like the rain (3-16-14)

when words are like the rain and
the fields of communication between us are dry,

they erode slowly, imperceptibly
with a lazy wind blowing layers of dust and

pieces of our carefully planted life away.

they break off quietly, without much protest.

an oncoming cloud is grey and heavy with rain,
and I welcome the storm gladly,
arms outstretched, head thrown back,
rejoicing in the downpour,
as the cracked ground below me comes
shyly back to life, green and new.

but during a rainy season; our conversations
hashed, rehashed, and hashed again,
the storm becomes overkill. words I didn't want
to hear the first time, repeated.
they flood, they drown, they choke
what has been so lovingly tended.
they become as meaningless and superfluous as
another inch of water in a flooded, muddy field.

when words are like the rain,
there is power to give hope to a dry land.
there is power to kill what was planted.