the rain fell:
drumming melancholy
cleaning dutifully
rain filled streets, fresh with
bright green cuttings, swirling
in gutters swallowing rain,
eventually vanishing
a transformation
still holds the original
sin, and blessing
as one is all things
witnessing change;
we are that
and so much more
as we listen
as we ignore
as we open
and close the door
spirit coaxes, does not plead,
as angels ask for nothing
more than your full attention
to the streaming blasts
of darting insights: hosanas
hugging your countenance;
the choir continues long after
you are sleeping in the round-
borders dissolving,
star clusters unwind
sprinkle on your eyelids
the gold dust that both ends
and begins a cycle,
two by two
holding hands as one
tenderness
never known so embracing,
as this morning sun wrapping
around wood pile stacked
orion high,
as morning sun
wraps around
the wood pile,
ready
for winter's raging fires
Kate Lamberg
9/8/11
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