That morning rain

What was it about that morning rain

far from where the homeland lied,

far from where our tongue was spoken

and where I knew a face

in people passing by?

What was it about that rain

that fell through early mornings

in Kazakhstan

and Georgia?

That exotic morning rain…

If the sun appeared

it took its holy place before the lovers of the world.

If the fog came thick

it stalled the dying of the night.

But our partner in the dance

—that early morning rain

miles and miles from home:

it didn’t need to speak of love

nor think upon the night.

That exotic morning rain

came tender with the dawn

and with it washed away

all we’d known before.