Language

I ask the rain for answers
but it offers no reply,
just a gentle tip tip tap
annointing my forehead.

I want to speak the same words
as the indifferent sun
or babble with the brooks
in quiet flowing tones.

So much remains unknown.
In thousands of lifetimes
we may, together, learn a word
of an infinite lexicon.

I try to converse with the wind
but it does not answer back.
With soft and tender hands
it ruffles through my hair.