The Finding and Letting Loose of all the Winters’ Rains

The Finding and Letting Loose of all the Winters Rains

Audio 5 minutes (3.8 Mb.)

 

At some time in the beginning

the call to arms did not have to travel far.

Just held down there, at our sides,

still, but always held ready shields.

 

Then just some way raised, they were only so far

did not have to travel upwards

and towards, but did.

Touched, the edges, rims jarred together, fingers grasped.

 

So, molten upwellings flowed, at that touch

and created a land bridge of deceptive footings.

For, as they crossed over into night still grasping,

they found the other end, flooded.

 

Heaven held heavy and then let go

from those four craters

the four million wet offsprings of all

those supposedly forgotten winter nights and days.

 

In doing so it pushed them,

separately, to either end of that bridge,

whereupon the spent children arms now limp

and aching from their holding, rejoined their sides,

to fall like the dead asleep, on those shields.

 

Storm raged, waters rose and although the upturned shields floated

it saw them washed off either end and a float away.

As the days and any nights prevailing winds would carry them north, west, south

and from the east, finally came one biting, numbing, cleaning, killing much.

 

Another shore, pushed upriver

some miracle of celestial outrage

and transcendental navigation washed them up,

beached in a renewed world,

awoken from it’s safer, less passionate slumbers.

 

Cold feet set down firm above the last, highest tide.

A risen sea level, never to return, a

after that deluge of me, you.

Could be St. Helena?

Cliffs reaching to a blue sky either side.

Yet, see a way up, to the greener lush uplands

off those virgin, feet-pressed sands.

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