MEDITATION IN THE RAIN


In the premature falling
Night

Head bowed bent
Forward against the absence
Of an Indian Summer

Rain like Rice Crispies
Snap-crackle-popping
On the flapping plastic
Of my hood

Wind whipped ears

My eyes in custody
See only the ground
On which I walk

Isolated

The world empty now
Except for the odd stray
Runner squawking seagull
Scared crow

Swan heads buried
In the river

Hidden
But not hiding

I think of all the false
Belongings

I have tasted

The true belonging
Of Love

That draws me in

To the Claddagh church
Before Mass

Enfolded in the radiance
Of Your Face
Lifted up to intimate communion

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