I'm listening for a vowel that will teach

I'm listening for a vowel that will teach
the mountains to be humble, teach the rain
to fall on tender plants quietly. To each
seed is given unfailing love, the plains
breathe with the swaying grasses in quatrains
and tercets deftly figured. I have viewed
the dance of branches as all that remains
of the first language. Words descend like dew,
like showers on new grass, the birds that flew
into the vines brought twigs. The new grass
was pulled up to the Sun, the light drew
the flowers to its hearth. I see the glass
move as a fluid slowly. O I have wanted
to be like abundant rain on tender plants!