Receiving The Storm
I.
In a square yard by a convenience store
Ravens and bicycles a good sign
Trust drains me to my core some days
I want my voice like that tornado train
Instead my only howl is a tiny stream
Not audible at all but trickling
A drip not mine but something so bright
I can see it when I wake not grasping or
Screaming early morning when all light
Is the returning radiance of all this life
And night is a kind of storehouse for
Human Power. I walk under some buzz
Looking for a switch to shut down senses
II.
Balancing Periphery
sine waves
dark distortions
primary colors
cries of infants
terror and joy
nectar
closing a door
random paths of strong winds
knowing
what I am composed of
is eternal
what I have named
voiced motion of light
III.
content watching drowning trees eating what is easily obtained
I find a high perch
indigo morning sirens across a radar screen as random as meteorites
August horizon sparks in unseen distance making themselves known
wild fires choking blue daybreak on the other side of this mountain
I record with my mirror held across our differences
praying through all this swirling that your breath will fog the glass
and I will know I am not alone. This is the opening when death
is night and birth returning radiance of trees
RETURNING RADIANCE OF TREES
CRYPTIC HUES OF DAWN
LIGHTSWITCH OF THE SUN
Copyright 1996 Beridha Beridha.
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