benediction

The weather takes a turn to Fear.
Things are gray.
We sit in a little room, and stare at a little screen.
Drudgery, addiction, criticism, denial, automation:
The accompanists of Fear’s silent song.
The dry dust in our mouth tastes of impossibility.

Love returns like water trickling into parched earth.
Places that seemed dead come to life again.
Hard ground relaxes, green things appear,
birds arrive from somewhere and speak in music,
and the land smiles and says, “I Remember!”

To whoever reads this and whoever writes this:
May Love always return to you.
May the warm rain of Love water all that is parched in you;
may your prisoners all be set free;
may your ample corridors echo again with laughter and song;
may the wide world again beckon you outside to dance;
may Yes bloom magnificently and give a resting place to No;
may the moonrise shock you with its beauty;
may you remember now all that Fear once forgot.