Without Difference

Clouds carry sunlight
even if it rains.
When it does rain,
its drops of sun,
and what’s here grows
without difference,
as if a flood
never occurred,
as if no Sundays
isolated us
to hopes and prayers,
as if the sun
is a matter
so indistinct
from language
that what grows here
will only guess
to what arrives,
as we only guess
within the clouds
of electrons
or with the matter
of a god.