No kind of rain
Falls in the distance

No wind to carry fortunes
Or even weary wings home

There are dark birds
That emerge
From far corners

There is little steady kindness
From the turning of the earth

The seasons chafe
As if the earth itself
Was running dry

And I remember the promise,
That once again
Creation will run free

And our work
Will be our delight

And every child
And woman
And man,
And even every animal,
Will know,
And live,
And move
As if nothing would dare come against us

And our dignity
Is not assigned
Or even earned
But comes wrapped
And buried
And sometimes hidden
In existence.

But it is there,
And knows no boundaries.
And no time
Or rain
Or even loss
Can blur the bright edge
Between existence and the final dream.

It is enough
To breathe
And walk on
As if we could carry
This burdensome spark forever.

*Morf Morford is a Tacoma based observer, listener and sometimes-instigator. He enjoys the odd and unexplored corners of life