That cloud…
That cloud great with witnesses.
Weeps at times.
Leaks at times.
When fear or grief
or pangs of birth
Strike at those under its gaze.
Those afraid, hurt or in labor
Feel the rain from heaven –
It’s source, unknowable.
Yet, the drops are fresh relief
From heat of battle with one another
From pain residing deep within
From the strain of flesh giving way to new life – even unknown new life.
And the drops, they form a stigmergy
a way to a stream which can be followed.
Followed at last to a place
A place of peace and rest.
Perhaps…Maybe…
Once, when one called out, “I thirst”
The cloud heavy with witnesses
burst forth with rain from saints.
And energy enough…just enough…
was found
to say
“It is finished.”
Finished? The cloud keeps watch. The drops still fall.
The cloud awaits for us to hear.
Not Quite Home 