A Fresh Rain Poem by Peter Black

Outside in the wind after a fresh rain
When pine tree oil is lifted off bark;
Perfumes the air; it becomes fresh and clean,
Charged with moisture and electricity,
So damp skin tingles as if pruned to spark,
Ready to send streaks through the welkin and bind,
The upper air heavy in purple-gold,
Parting walls of clouds for the sun to shine,
Down where hands of grass carry water drops;
Through the dew and collected effluence,
Its heat and power with photon vibrance:
Colors so deep and pure, taken by eyes,
That reds and blues and greens become alive;
Even the dirt is so soft, dark and thick,
That a person's feet seem to grow from it.