Last night’s rain drips from the eaves,
early spring birds call, testing their voices,
harsh plane motor above –
people getting somewhere fast,
birds still searching,
my back against the bedroom wall,
sounds from behind
inviting me to join,
ache inside of not –
not doing right,
not participating,
not loving,
not important,
falling off the planet
as the planes grind more fiercely.
I am looking for a way in
or maybe a way out.
but in this separation
is also the universe,
also God, also me,
also the birds who call
and maybe sometimes go
unanswered, still asking,
rising each morning
to cast their desire into
the waiting air
and let it do its work.
I send my own warbling out
and allow the rain to fall stronger now.
This is the time for rain.
I pray to know what time it is for me.
Photo by Pixabay at Pexels
