In a portent of misted beauty
The rain-wandering hawk
Awakens
The sleeping
Mother of the mountains
To ring the standing
Bowls of silence
There since
Before the wings of time took flight,
And in ringing, to empower
The wild places;
The trees, her children,
Blossom gold;
Bumblebees run races,
The stars sail
Their tall wooden ships
On the bobbing waves of the black, deep sea.
Will the antlered elk remain,
Even then,
Along with the swift falcon,
And the barred geese
Who rode so bravely
Near the fierce night
Of the wrath of the wind
And biting hail
Where the embattled sky
Flashed
White, unpinned,
And armies of air
Clashed
From outcrop to rocky hill
Echoing
Echoing
Where the old owl blinks?
In the aftermath, gray-gowned, shy
Rain beings fly by
On blue
Petals;
The band of geese settles
On the lapping lake, recalling
All the stone-stepped eons told
In the unfolding stories – or a leaf-borne tale
By the rocks that talk,
Voices of the dark red canyons,
Of the grass and plants, wind-whispering
Of the juniper-guardians
Of the all-knowing bear,
Of the small-footed mouse, smiling and meek,
And the so determined ants.
There the rattlesnake slinks.
Now only the wise ones who
Know the starry ways, by most forgotten,
Who tend the earth, will gather
Again,
Their songs to sing
Like the soaring sea,
In the bright land of the moon –
Gentle as the rain that drips
Among the sleeping flowers
Of the stars. Now all is connected in these most final holy
Hours
As it was before the beginning,
One in many,
Many in one,
And if we train
Our attention for a moment,
Soon,
As the gale is done,
We will
Find the one we seek
Standing by the silver tree,
Near the old
Railed fence
Speckled in sunlight.
Hear beyond the rivers’ torrent
The chant of Om,
The lost bells of home.
Thank you, blessed rain.
Thank you, Parvathi,
Ever there, peace
Falling
On the star-clad mountain peak.
© Sharon St Joan, 2018
Photo: 113186375 © Michael Chatt / dreamstime.com
My mistake…three. 🙂
:)!