This morning is pretty cold
The humid air driven away
By the rain which poured all night.
How to describe this moment:
You heat water for coffee
As you bring out soggy clothes
To let them dry
In the now bright morning sun.
How come this morning
Has a special rhythm
As you prepare for daily chores.
You are almost driven to sway
To the smooth melody
That feels like Palestrina.
It feels like a moment of grace
As you clear the garden
Of dry leaves
And rotten stalks
Made soggy
By the rain.
This is my kind of morning
As you prepare
For music in the islands.
You interrupt your weekend
As you dash off an eulogy for people
Who perished
During the long, almost endless
Scourge.
There is no sign of rain
On this midweek
Of your existence.
You live, you love, you set aside grief
Thinking of this mass of people
Under the sea of umbrella
Drenched by the rain
Fired by hope against hope
Waiting for a new kind
Of morning
That might spell
Deliverance.
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