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Sunday morning
time for sabbath sacraments.

He steps into gusty wind,
some fat splatter sweeps of raindrops
fall across his porch roof
on down through roaring river valley,
forceful push, then ebb

February wind storm
raining down warm wet,
a wondrous primal pair
he adores.

Neighbor birds start their liturgical dance
and ritual songs of regeneration
without him.

Already flying quick floating dives
into drama time,
singing back to Brother Wind
howling on his way.

Calling, chanting cantors, conjoin
swelling sacred anti-gravity songs
co-arising blissful sweeping sound,
grace filling atmosphere 
swirls time-rich sacred rites 
across his house-bound skin.

Sound of incense sweeps down river,
north to south 
with warmer hopes and natural wealth intentions,
reminding him
 
Time for political baptism.

She incants from the bathtub
in short gusts of heated chaotic blast
conjoining his internal gospel choir,

Chirps her dissonant descant
challenging and prophesying 
and occupying
in full-voiced roar of need
as want
right now,
seldom bothering with peaceful please,
much less thanks
for caring as best he can
to hear her risky rhythms,
irritating flows of hard-blown breath
with drenching attitude.

Storm and brew
birds cheer rage in her brain
shouting at co-arising buoyancy
to blow another way
within her sacred bathtime
universal liturgy.

Her way,
the only way
she can imagine
to function in a reverse and upside down
political world of unheard powerlessness
above water
when she can find fine faith 
her loud-voiced demands
to turn life around
may be heard
spinning this slippery wind of Earth
to blow in her right sacred way.

Baptism completes this wind drenched requiem
for full-life thrival
against mere anti-death survival
cooperating this week's regenerate vocational intent
and political windstorm practice.

She joins her dad
for one last look
through jaundiced droopy eye
at drenching rain that could fly back
from whence it came
if only wiser timed 
to start this sabbath day.

Birds now pray their benedictions
quietly in wind-protected nests
while he listens to swollen postlude protest
against earthy agitating time,
uprooting old gnarled systems
decayed for newer holistic use
as compost fades into swaying trees
flown back to join upriver's grace of windblown time,
and forth to rejoin downstream's centerous roots
through purging winter's decomposing dance.

He closes his door to time's external grace
to watch a smile warmly cross her chronic face
like a gust of refreshing wind
through a rainy karmic life.
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