On That Which Stays

The water jettisons in silver flocks,

Uplifted into gray, diluted flight

To rest upon a likeness of itself;

Reflected clouds bringing far greater heights.

 

They perch upon the trees in lieu of birds

In opalescent stillness, shining through

The darkened air, by which the fleeting sky

Migrates in flocks of storms rapt full with dew.

 

And I, still wanderer who sees it all

Behind a pane of glass, eyes brimmed with jewels

No different from the rain, no less a mirror

Of our brief beauty, shattered and unspooled.

 

We migrants, travelers and vagabonds

Who blink and are but melted under Sun

Do not despair at death, but at the life

Which forgets ends are miracles begun.

 

That we may long outlast these weathered days,

As flowers bent with rain may brighter stay.

 

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