Voices of the Void

And now, at last, you’ve come to speak
with me of beauty,
to recount all the layers of the atmosphere
you’ve been living in, between
the loudness of thunder and the stillness
of swirling water, carried on currents
only this old communion can know,
a coming together of two ancient rivers
who have carved the lands below them
with a longing, barely articulated,
to flow as one again,
all lit up in orange and pink
and every other
unimaginable and sacred shade
between.

At last, old friend, you’ve come,
a shower on the distant ridge,
on fire with rainbow rain and a rhythm
I had thought forgotten.

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