Audience of One

the rainman

It was the young time
I was the RainMan
wrapped up in blankets
it started to fall down

corn for the mortar
spilt on the dry husk
red dust on rooftops
rising on impact

sparks in the hot air
glint in the eyes of
old men who dance long
into the twilight

lamps light the dirt roads
tending the way home
I wait alone for
the Numen's arrival

heat lightning crackles
vapors come lowering
a mantle of white fog
darkens my dreaming

the MoonMan is tossing
twisting caught up in
nightmares unfolding
of fear and emptiness

ancient Prophecy
blurs in my vision
the apocalypse
starting all over

monsters spring out from
cracks in the world which
quakes and thunder have
rendered asunder

fiery blue stars fall
the burnt land turns under
all our possessions
begin to devour us

just then spontaneous
singing arises
drumbeat and footfall
measure the tempo

feathered oblations
offered in secret
stone vessels broken
bound spirits set free

fly from the round rooms
into the rived sky
the underworld reclaims
all of the old things

the People have not turned
away nor the last rite
been told for this world's end
the ritual dances

continue as always
scenes in the red fields
of our mothers' mothers
play over and over

now—the sun climbs up
daylight grows stronger
earth remains solid
ancestors abide

incense of cedar
wafts in the dawn wind
greedy young roots suck
up rain from the ditches

the dry stalk is thrusting
the tiny fruit goldens
the inside and outside
split by the vellum

are stolen by Sandmen
a half at a time—now
time has reverted
the RainMan is sleeping

Kevin Cornwall © All rights reserved.

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