Ancestral Valley
Scales across piano keys
Playing brisk,
With rising hills
Hiding their own verses
from the broad, watery grasslands
Where the deep ebb and flow of tides
And storms
And winds
And floods
And in the great dryness
Things move
In a time not meant for lingering,
Things pass
And begins the vast wait for new:
A return to the gently rocking cradle.
Shaken Rain 