Another Sonorous Signal

A needed rain withheld.

August birdsong opens a bit, now arranging a fullness in decline.

One sits under the humidity yet cannot divine a single drop of water.

The dry storm growls east sending the release onward.

Geese overhead.

Another sonorous signal of movement complying with destiny.

To love unconditionally may seem like a choice but as the cardinal in the elder pine and I discussed, Love simply is.

This and other quicksilver threads braided down the middle of my back.

Last December I remember water turning to stone, yet the evergreens and holly and chickadees remained vibrant to dismantle the myth of death.

Yet, this one will wither; my choice-less season in the accompaniment key of Chopin.

So today – short sentences of latent potential in the here and now.

What arrives now is truly a mystery, for more than a muse means more than everything combined.

The field of my thoughts runs dry as the sky-fallen sea withholds.

I shall stagger to river's edge to kiss its cold mouth in hopes of dousing this dusty lament!

Then when will I be empty?

A moment in the waterless moonlight suggests the kind of never that eclipses both hope and despair.

They say that in the death of Pan, Christ is born.

I say that in the birth of Christ, Pan collects Selene for the last time and disappears into the soft white distance that can never be claimed.

Lunar night, dawning bright; I cannot undo the wish I wished last night.

Make for me this sweet ending and you'll know me on my knees.