Poetry and About Poetry

Covenantial More rain. Noah’s rain. The yard fills and a river ripples where grass weaved in once dry winds. A new deluge. A new end of creation. When the clouds have cleared, no dove flies, except two mourning doves loosed from the ground below the bird feeders. No rainbow arcs across sunlit sky. No covenant is written in new God’s spell. But there are two of us, three cats, a house that seems still seaworthy. And if God smiles in the soaked lawn, reflecting like sunlight from a lake where grass weaved in a once dry wind, who am I to doubt that some faith has been restored, some balance kept, some momentousness raised like a lost son into the heavens. It may look very like a cloud. It may feel very like the breath of the divine, drying our small and grassy Ararat. Published in The Huirricane Review (2008) with rights reverting to the author

Covenantial More rain. Noah’s rain. The yard fills and a river ripples where grass weaved in once dry winds. A new deluge. A new end of creation. When the clouds have cleared, no dove flies, except two mourning doves loosed from the ground below the bird feeders. No rainbow arcs across sunlit sky. No covenant is written in new God’s spell. But there are two of us, three cats, a house that seems still seaworthy. And if God smiles in the soaked lawn, reflecting like sunlight from a lake where grass weaved in a once dry wind, who am I to doubt that some faith has been restored, some balance kept, some momentousness raised like a lost son into the heavens. It may look very like a cloud. It may feel very like the breath of the divine, drying our small and grassy Ararat. Published in The Huirricane Review (2008) with rights reverting to the author