It’s mosquito weather, at last –
I am beginning to wake from my
Long slumber, at last, at last.
Bry bone stacked on top of
Dry bone, relearning the language of
Sinews – and the wind will come from the hills;
I know it will come.
The wind! they whisper in
Expectation, poised on the peak,
Prepared for flight –
The wind! That the horses gorge upon,
That the swallows are made up of,
That the cicadas are tasting for the first time, tonight,
Filling the night with their roaring –
And through the day, if you stop long enough to listen.
At night there is nothing to do but listen:
To my roommate’s tv playing long into the night,
To the gentle murmur of my diffuser
Coaxing me to sleep,
And to the song of the cicadas,
Tasting life, life! The breath of the world,
Tasting so sweet to them;
They, in all their new innocence!
Today I was asked, through tears,
Why the world keeps going.
She said she wanted it finished,
To got to Paradise, where we can all be together
And there are no more tears.
I don’t have answers for this.
I am asking the same things
In a different language learned from
Different sages. Still they answer me not
Any better –
Ask the Fates, ask the Fates! Those sisters three – !
I am of three sisters.
Perhaps this is why
Often I can’t tell what’s coming,
But sometimes! I see so clearly – !
Maybe, I’ve been passed the eye.
But this is what the prophets, sager than me,
Have to say: Lo! A new heaven and a new earth;
Resurrected ground.
Resurrected sky.
The old will pass away,
And all that is good, wake again –
Dry bones upon dry bones,
Relearning the language of
Sinews, and the Breath from the hills –
The Breath, the Breath from the hills – !
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