All Possibilities

Trees, a field and long grass:
All possibilities.

Possibilities of lines,
Still invisible,
Being drawn over
The field by a hand
Moving fast,

Painting a picture
On a canvas stretched
Far beyond four
Corners of its frame,

Painting silent lines
On air unencumbered
By paint.

As it starts to rain,
Using perspective
Of intersected trees,
Drawing millions of lines
From points of rain.

Lines becoming
A curtain for my ears,
Which harsh-soft
I keep drawing
In or drawing out,
Long, long after
What stays,
At vanishing point,
Is just smell of rain.

All these possibilities
Only because I sit
By long grass
As it begins to rain.