Chills down the spine—to beauty
a joyous rain models the face
and its fine, genuine welcome,
even somehow recalling now
that in Russian to create a poem,
a song, something of charm
that moves in the way
in which the sun impels
and goads its rotary world
along with the Moon and Earth,
is sochinit that, in turn, evokes
eyes—ochi—paired and winged—
in that act which brings out one’s heart
and that cradled rain as love turns into art.
