A poem I wrote as I sheltered form the storm.

The wind plays
with the rain.
A slow slip,
away from the
hard mountains.

The curtain
becomes a retreat,
a long-sought
meaning to life.
A trail in my mind.

Here, I do not
have your eyes
or your voice.
To give me beauty,
or a hand to the sky.

Only tribal days,
and words less than a whisper.
Down the road, a barbet
sings – to give me life
once again.