GOD’S IN THE GARDEN by David Erdos
WEATHER WRITING
GOD’S IN THE GARDEN by David Erdos
Life has become something else, having seemingly lost
It's first rhythm. Where once there appeared clear direction,
Now, stoked by silence I hear no particular call from the air.
Tonight, I stand listening to the storm while trying to discern
Its rolled language, as the sharp air sea crashes, disturbing
All gardens and careening lost house cats into a desperate
Return towards care. The evening is angry, intense; as if
It held a bitter retreat from hot weather. And so, a smiting
Hand slaps the suburbs, as if the God in the glare came
To growl. At this particular warning, I wane and retreat
At once from my window, and yet where once there was
Shelter and comfort now nothing I own feels allowed.
I have felt removed these last weeks from where I thought
My own path was headed. Now that it seems weather's
Writing a premonition of sorts, poems pall. As do perhaps,
Forms of fate, as the blameless are crushed by the weight
Of wind and words sent to wound them, particularly
On this atrocious night that twists seasons into the reasons
For which a still unbidden curse makes its call. This year
And our souls have reversed, with little at hand sent
To save them. This is a year of glass and torn paper
As contract and cure have been stalled. And yet still,
As winds roll and avalanche cloud and cosmos
We must wrench the earth from ground tempest
In order to restore sweet rainfall across regenerate
Earth and encourage the flowers of faith to seem
Godly so that we may walk with Blake's wisdom
Towards a new climate and country in which
The riled weather seeks no lasting revenge
For Man's gall.
David Erdos August 25th 2020
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