So heavy with its own wetness, the vine

So heavy with its own wetness, the vine
Upon my window sagged, toiling beneath
Its glut; the leaves, their rainwater, the fine
Array of passion: green, clenching its teeth
     Showing how it struggles, living
     Painfully luxuriantly,
     Haughty with the storm's gift given.

It wavered, suffered with so much to drink,
And gleefully it swayed under the weight
As though to hoard it all, never to think
About the other earth watered, the taste
      Of the rain before the evening
      Had erased all else, surpassed it,
      Leaving what I thought was longing.

The Sun was setting. I saw it become
A solitary thing verdant against
The orange sky, the blue night that now shone
Throughout its crystal dew; yearning, I sensed
      It become a lover, leaving
      Life for love and diving under
      To the threshold of that needing.

Its greens grew rich in low twilight; I knew
Its deepest heart belonged now to the rain.
And should the sky become sea, and what grew
On Earth be flooded too, how it would fain
       Cry for joy to then be taken
       Off, be washed away delighted
       And forever unforsaken.

I saw it leaning once daylight was through.
It faded into night, how it retired
Beneath its blanket of moonlighted dew
To wake again and wait for its desired.
       Then I saw my eyes reflected
       In the glass, and trusting lovers
       Will survive for love, I left it.