The Downpour

From doorway’s time
we walked the
hills of mystery
adjacent yet elided &
placed in origin on a plate of
before-the-day-was-done
-never alone-
we stride with our delights
as if singing to the sun
on cloudless mesas
in long winters
of white where
there are no calm waters
(inasmuch as
we’d like to believe)
yet we surrender
ourselves against
the teal downpour
of evergreen in our own Light
reaching the dawn of dusk and shadow
to bask in the Flower Moon tonight.

 
© K. James Ribble

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