Oblivion
The flight is past, the crane is gone
and there above the silt and clay,
the scattered reeds and sticks
of sheltered birth,
the precipice and promise of a life
are disappearing, soon to leave
no trace of the wild delta's mothering,
no echo of the cries of flegling hunger
tearing at the heedless skies.
She will return another year
to co-create her own;
her semi-conscious faint remembering
begins crescendo of the urge within
to gather once again
the transient nursery,
to host a miracle, and fly away.
The delta too, endures
the smolderings of consciousness,
it also throbs within
to host its god of genesis each year
and then to watch him die,
to feel the sterile winds
clear everything away
in their escaping irony
without so much
as a goodbye.
~
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