I heard music,
The voice of my oracle had become almost mundane
Until it went silent.
But here this morning
As I rose slowly from sleep,
through the humus of my fallow plot,
His voice was reaching — overtoned falsetto—from the field around, below:
“You’re instinct can’t be wrong.”
The doubt and numb looms,
like the smell of my life composting around me,
But word has come,
When your turn comes round
And the light goes on
And you feel your attraction again
Your instinct can’t be wrong
The distant, insistent tribal rhythm
marches closer through the dim
from some place inside me;
I can almost see the torches.
Oh, Thank Heaven!
I will wait and trust.
In my life, Grace has many guises.
But I welcome back her favorite and mine,
Dec 13, 2016
End of Eldorado days