And so the mottled child forlorn
wanders in from his journey home,
out of the soothing patter
of a warm rain
that fell across last night unrestrained.
Where have you been?
I ask him standing
in that light streaking
from between clouds and moments now breaking.
All the while silent answers flow
unhindered from his sodden features.
From somewhere deep inside the identity
of bone and stone,
being love and washing fear,
out of time’s dark narrow funnel.
From a place preceding sight,
through which all things,
both suffered and enjoyed,
must pass, coming and going,
all matter, dreams and light,
cosmic dust, water and smoke.