04-04-2016, 01:29 PM
Waiting to Be Reborn
What light might be left in a mid-dusk sky
registers not a niggle in this soil,
found black and wet in early spring repose,
still darkened in the death of winter’s night.
But quick-smooth puddles and water-filled swales-
sharp, like shards of sky fragments or dreamscapes
bright with life reborn, and love repromised.
The streaks of cloud across the western sky
open once again like the ribs of God.
What light might be left in a mid-dusk sky
registers not a niggle in this soil,
found black and wet in early spring repose,
still darkened in the death of winter’s night.
But quick-smooth puddles and water-filled swales-
sharp, like shards of sky fragments or dreamscapes
bright with life reborn, and love repromised.
The streaks of cloud across the western sky
open once again like the ribs of God.