branches and fruit

You have fruit growing out of your head, figs in your heart, apples in your hand.
You are abundant like I've never known, joyfully rooted in a Strongman's land.
You are like shade of green leaf and rubber, your sight is a refreshing scene.
You are like lifeblood bursting forth, producing fruit that is rich and clean.

But I am like a branch in winter, barely holding deathly things.
I cannot bud or fruit or blossom a fraction of what your branches bring.
My heart is like an apple core, my arms are barren, shriveled trees.
I cannot move for I am frozen, unshaking in this winter breeze.

I wonder why some are given more sun and some more wind and rain,
For wherever shoots sprout, they are pregnant and full with a hope that they'll sprout again.
"Abide in Me, abide in Me, as I abide in you,"
These things you whisper longingly to my very favorite tune.
And I am hungry for your fruit, I never taste enough.
For I grow nothing on my own, not even this skin so worn and rough.

on my loyalty to rain*

I love the rain because it quenches my bones. It makes me feel alive.
It falls on a whim to drench me with home from that same foreboding sky.

When it rains, everything is clean. Everybody stops pretending.
You can wipe that silly smile off your face—that frozen sunshine so offending.

Because rain brings winter clarity, and falls with spring-drizzled hope.
It opens my eyes, it washes my face, it wakes me to what I don’t know.

I will never wish for sun as long as I have rain. For sun will creep behind my back
And blind my blinking eyes; sweet rays of golden lies, covering all that I lack.