It had been a day heavy with rain:
the clouds, in pregnant billows
spilling sorrows from a sky
mourning the death of a dear friend.
But at day’s end, the clouds parted enough
to outfit a whole Navy, as the sun
bestowed its blessing* on the hills
to which I drove, radio playing
Over the waves, staccato dancing
over static, music soaring:
unvoiced, vatic, peal on peal
of trills on sinuous trills**
The notes sang: how they sang! And I
was born again, just like Van Morrison
mellifluous and golden voiced
a poem without words.
And though the lyric is unheard, I swear
within those lines of melody I hear
all light, all life,
the resurrection, and the voice of God.
© 2022 experimentsinfiction.com. All Rights Reserved.
** references Coleridge’s ‘Kubla Khan‘