Drenched in wind,
clinging and luscious,
I hear rumors that it was
not all wildfire and rampage
after all,

that there is so much,
so much more to this show
and it can all awaken
in the prayerlight of dusk
and whatever seemed so
serious out there
is now smoke

like each decadent pink
cloud gently swallowed
by the dark.

Just a speck of faith
and the clownish day
steps out of its
costume and the
Otherworld appears

and what waits in the calm
is something truly living
and dripping and
ravenous with light

like the red hibiscus
just learning to give,

like the Earth loving
itself to sleep.

Patricia Joan Jones