Something happened in Russia. <br />He came back white, with blood veins webbing his brow. <br />Something happened to him in Russia <br />and I have him now. <br /> <br />Now once again I must tend him, <br />a gardener coaxing the roots to bear <br />Spring shoots that force their way up through the wintry earth <br />into the birth of air. <br /> <br />Air is the breath of promise I must fan <br />out of a stagnant sky and bring alive; <br />prayer from my lips must then impel from static clouds <br />rain to pour down like bees swarming from their hive, <br /> <br />hives holding hope to fertilize the opening buds <br />nourishing soul and body. I must be <br />the god who has fallen silent, promise broken. <br />Now it’s all up to me, <br /> <br />me in my solitary domain since he flew away to Russia <br />where a blood moon and mesmerizing night <br />danced him towards the sound of voices buzzing <br />and the end of an endless return flight <br /> <br />flight back to me as if I can once more carry <br />the gardening tools of time and trade <br />while my own heart is frozen, cracked by the flight to Russia, <br />and our oblivious god in his baking desert <br />sleeps off his workday under a sole gourd’s shade. <br /> <br />LRH <br />3.10.07<br /><br />Linda Hepner<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/something-happened-2/
