The light after a storm

A poet must go outside
for at least ten minutes a day,
no matter the weather.

It is a mercy of the kind that leads
me to continue
to believe
in a force of Love in the universe
that there is no light more beautiful
than the light after a storm.

Pristine, piercing, fragile it falls
out of postpartum clouds
still heavy with their rumbling
remnants of rain,
aching for release.

That this light filtered through
gray travail
is of such unsurpassed beauty
strikes me as an intentional
effort at maintaining cosmic
equilibrium.

On days when I'm paying attention,
anyway.

You must breathe unconditioned
air
if you want to think unconditioned
thoughts,
speak unconditioned
words,
feel unconditioned
Love,
stand midwife to the unconditioned
Light
breaking into the world.

 




Other poems:               The unavoidable terror             Open Borders               A banner

 

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