Inking

(Advent, anytime)

 

I’m tired, and it’s raining

Rainy days are interesting

I like them

As long as they don’t go too far

The sun holds back, because

The clouds have asked them to

And far below, we dodge

The drops or surrender

To umbrella lids, rubber shoulders,

Or wet heads

It drops like verse upon the page

And we are drenched, then, in another way

Which is all right, I hope

One can’t catch cold from rained upon with words

 

I’m trusting

Virus has become interchangeable

Maybe colds can jump forms, too,

And meanings

 

There was a word made flesh

We killed that flesh, but

It walked among us whole (wholer),

At last

Then went away

To return another time

We fear that time and market it

It will come, anyway

And is said to be a glory

 

Let’s not fear our words so much, then

For like the word that died and

Will return

That is with us now

There is inherent resurrection quality

(aspect and excellence)

In what we can say,

In what we like to think

Especially in a season of hope

 

What might be heard

Might change us

In needful and saving ways

On rainy days

Forever

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Caroline Grondin on Unsplash