The Morrow’s Crop

  

My God, my God

I hear you speaking to me through the universe at every turn

I pray upon the day of the eclipse that this be my autumn

Thunder Road take me home!

I pray this not wishful interpretation of the music of the air

The gliding revisionist peace of what things could be

Praying upon the wind like hollow reeds

I see such fire in the twilight beckoning me to dance

How I hope she has felt such a stir

Such a fire lit that she cannot help but announce

That which was her shackle is now freed and it be not

Her disinclination but repression removed

I pray upon the dawning blood of timeless shadow 

My god, my God

Please be with me as I flow in my meditative journey

That she is the love I have long been blind

To feel one not cooed in my written lawyering,

But released by that which always had the skeleton key

Grief like a labor quelled to abide in that which the power of two

Diminishes to rubble mesh for a garden of the morrow’s crop