The water singing to the bridge
is past all fear, as are the fruits
that even in their greenness weigh
the branch nearly to the sodden ground—
As for the source of such increase,
I try to make an effort to remember:
before the bankruptcy and the homes lost
to one calamity after another, before
the deaths of those I’ve loved and
missed; before the growing frequency
of bulletins from this aching, aging body.
I scan the skies and there they are again:
the bilious clouds poised to release
a new and generous cache of rain.
In response to Via Negativa: The long view.