Listen,
the storm that stopped me
has passed,
listen,
the doves are calling,
calling,
a tower of cloud
stands in the south
unmoving above the valley
that brims with mist,
the air
sweetened by lightning
and the silence just after,
the field at my feet
bejeweled,
points of light
in the resting rain,
stopped
in a washed world,
i think of you,
ongoing,
things as they were
where no storm has passed—
here, things as they are,
washed and gleaming,
the doves calling,
listen,
in the distance,
the soft thunder
of one heart,
far off.
