The mouth of an aging river waits, suspended for the rain’s blessing
Nourished by itself and needing nothing else
but water emptied from expectant clouds
Is this emptiness a ritual?
The water, a benevolent gift from the skies?
I know not--yet it’s where I find myself these days
Resting my mind in replete awareness
For rain drops to reflect who I am:
I see the stars walk in
How distant they once were
How shiny but inconsequential
To chart my way through the vastness The blinding dark, to sail far away from landlocked miles of limitation
To arrive home
Where I burn like a fire into the night
Raising a glass to the Milky River