When rain first hit the hot-spring water
the drops were slow there was room between them I could think of everything like how the bark of cedar tree shares color with tail of hermit thrush the one that sings at dusk when happiness and sadness balance both present like the bird’s two eyes each a world looking out for the other. And how sadness is a feather too because it's light, never falls straight but lilts back and forth like a seesaw with happiness the fulcrum that holds it a fingertip of pressure that lets dusk move into night the thrush tuck its bill and sleep. And now the raindrops quicken little can happen between them except all that needs to like being submerged in a happiness with sadness coming down made of the same stuff. From Five Hearts of Aloneness, Novemer 2019 |