The Rain Did Not Know

The rain didn't know of
this terrible rift--
the mitosis
and meiosis
of land and people
and hearts,
split and divided
on a bloody battlefield.

It didn't know
That a split and a splinter
would lead
to a shattering in Phases,
so that every cell--
every word--
every shout
and cry
would double,
and double again,
and copy--
again
and again
and again,
Each the same.
Each different.
Where once there was
One
Now a thousandfold,
Then more.

The rain didn't know
of rhetoric
or right.
It merely fell,
gentle,
cool
against the dry
and divided
land.