My tears are
dark clouds at the end of a storm,
scudding over wind-tossed hills,
the scent of firs carried through the hollows
They call forth wolves, who take up the howl
one after another,
their sweet throats lifting toward the sky
They summon the answering rivers,
rumbling swiftly across the earth,
the encompassing tides, flooding and ebbing
They find their place
in the cushioned atmosphere
in which the entire earth’s comprehensive rush
is one.
©Wendy Mulhern
October 11, 2015
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