Water blessed

Blessed, the wet smell of showered woods - rising
nostril inebriation: soaked sponge rot
of the felled firs; foliating air spice
the evergreens give, and rain-milled grass;
bath of the meadow, the slick on the trunks;
the silent, ongoing dirge of the slugs.

Blessed, the birds' flickering bodies
as though fields' hues, varying, painted them,
charming the boughs that drip to the songs they give.
Blessed, the hidden pools the forest clasps
like shivering gems! Under drooping roofs
that shorten down the entrance to a path!

Blessed, clean walkways and ones that crowd
with wet, laden and leaning, waist-high over
fruiting their drops in an instant of fast-soak.
Blessed, the steam lifting slow on the dell,
and the unwavering, up-soaring boles,
tolling eternity from where the rain falls.