aambl

again it’s love that sweeps me in
urgently stancing me into the whirl of the seasons
with their inevitable rainbows or weals
above my anguish that dances on
with the tenacity of a drought
the moon comes out to play
          as it shd
& calls at us in half forgotten languages

i go on singing of those who die & are dead
& won’t have rains growing out of their defeated mouths
i go on singing of those who slip in the mud
& immediately holler to the green skies in their hearts
because that is where the hymns pile up
like weary storms that suddenly become contrite

i go on singing of you
who are wasted into a sigh & a dream of rebirths
because the rocks arrogantly insist on being rocks
& not suns or embraces or beginnings
so our home can be in the ancient boulder
that rolls overhead, softly from truth to truth
asserting the slow eternity of all
who dream of pastures & songs

soon the wounds will start looking
like people we know
soon the yells will remind us of unknown loves
soon the forests will be dancing into our screams
& those of us who refuse to forget
their names or strengths
will take over the altars & the skies