BEFORE RAIN
.
The silent moments before rain
Where distance becomes hollow
And light, silent, holds its breath.
Then the whispering of the cloud,
The shivering of leaves away, away.
A new coolness then, and the rush of life
That sighs and lets go.
.
The atmosphere is a domed stupa.
The remains of the buddhas are everywhere.
Their teachings are rivers and seas.
Their teachings are the green mountains
And the roaring valleys.
A mind terma,
a mountain terma.
A dakini dance between raindrops.
.
What was lost is found,
woven into petrichor.
–
simonhlilly 
“petrichor” Instant association and so clear for your final line-and first. Oh, I do appreciate your poetry, Simon.
Thanks again, Bonnie!