Up-end the rain stick and what happens nextIs a music that you never would have knownTo listen for. In a cactus stalkDownpour, sluice-rush, spillage and backwashCome flowing through. You stand there like a pipeBeing played by water, you shake it again lightlyAnd diminuendo runs through all its scalesLike a gutter stopping trickling. And now here comesa sprinkle of drops out of the freshened leaves,Then subtle little wets off grass and daisies;Then glitter-drizzle, almost-breaths of air.Up-end the stick again. What happens nextIs undiminished for having happened once,Twice, ten, a thousand time before.Who care if all the music that transpiresIs the fall of grit or dry seeds through a cactus?You are like a rich man entering heavenThrough the ear of a raindrop. Listen now again.