A SHOWER OF GRACE
Now, I have to reckon with myself/ that in a while you'll be out of my sight. ---From "Till Next Spring" by Perla Patricio
It is fleeting, but I had my fill
of their company and songs.
Sometime soon, my hummers
must fly off to other gardens,
but I would not be there.
Strange shadows will linger,
Like rhythmic throbs haunting
my nights, heartbeats of pain
that never leave, overstaying
guests waiting for a last drink.
When will they leave? Hurts
hold on like geckos on the wall,
they must be pried off. Cut off.
Still their curt staccato echoes
through eerily empty rooms.
Quiet voices I have heard here
are other voices in other rooms.
I do not hear them bouncing
off these blinds darkening my
windows, hiding a wilted garden.
Will this longing for the warmth
of a gentle caress, when nights
and beds are cold, find its answer
soon---a knowing touch on my
back, before despair breaks me?
Tomorrow, I will walk through
an abandoned garden in the rain:
I will tilt my face to some grey sky
like an agape earthen jar, catch
myself some nourishing rain.
Must I, on my gnarled knees, beg
for these hurts to set me free?
My hummingbirds will fly off
leaving me this mansion of joy,
but oh, a finite hint of eternity.
Sometime soon, I must frolic
in this uncertain weather, dash
through this shower of grace,
sate my parched throat in the rain,
drink myself delirious but happy.
--- Albert B. Casuga