when rain speaks she has no shallow dexterity
she holds the bosom of skies in peaceful mothering’s
broken drops of purpose, going back before the days of moses,
she smells familiar, like the beginning,
a leaping exodus, barring wide -stirrings
billows, openings and moaning’s to songs of mercy
ditty-breaks, of breathing rain,
heaving -heavy her chorus, of holy wonder,
dimensions and multitudes will look upon her…
she is poet, and prophet,
falling with the sunrise, and rising with the
night sky.
Krissy Mosley Ministries 
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