In the clear light

of morning

the shaman and the priest

sit and dance



The moment positioned

in lucid light

the dripping wax

of thought

begins to dry


the last cloud

of a rainstorm

ends years of chaos;

the torrential faith

downpours ceaselessly


We are not

at liberty

to alter its course

or free ourselves

from its grasp


Chained to destiny

the wings are spread

but the sound

of music caroms

through the air


night and day

flip flop over

to reverse sides

and we just watch

it all transpire


humble in flesh

the angel stands naked

and the humans

can merely stare

and ponder its meaning


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