After another anxiety-ridden night, I was expecting something apocalyptic from the Oracle. She teased this puente out of me instead.
Painting by Lionel Walden.
This is always about what comes after,
when fish no longer fill the oceans with stars,
when bird magic flies away
into the everlasting night,
when trees bow and die,
and only the sky, weeping hot tears,
is left to wake
~on the last morning of all~
the moon will rise
to swim in sky waters
to sail memories across the bitter blue
and find the light.
Somewhere it still shines.
Listen and you will hear the music
of rain on roses.