Poem 165: Les Enfants du Paradis

a deserted hut bellowing heat into
the corner of a yellowing field of corn
raised in a faith
that stubbles the mud split earth
dried by the crackling parchment thin air
of heat seeking rain.

wishing to take all that I can from
the very atoms of this pre-storm quiet
I take shelter in this huts shadowed
doorway, hesitant within the electric
humming darkness radiant with
the bees of summer vibrating
the interior of a hut that is floored
with the bones of deserted snakes
growing upward through the silted
springtime ash toward the lowering
of the Amen sky.

and the thunderclap of applause
from on high, from up in the gods
falling down onto centre stage
the rain dance
the rain dance
the rain dance
the rain dance

calls out the children of paradise
as an exaltation of larks
where air and water meet
spinning and skimming across
the light connected surface
of field and sky, bathing my face
and eyes in the storm washed grass
as I quietly sit and watch my grave
open and welcome me
with folded arms.