If we come like soft rain / pattering gently,
not raging in torrents but secretly whispering in answer to each
other's urgent calls, rescuing our spirits,
souls from precarious ridges,
canyon rammed and night in tuned,
then the morning of our new lives should shower in rainbow.
But, if rooted in the unfeeling quicksand of the troubled past we
hesitate to move closer to tenderness, and,
if deafened by the cacophony of the raining chaos,
so much so that we only hear the faded echo of our awakening calls,
and come as night falls, in a vacuum,
just to fill a void, is it better to not come at all.
Love like lodestars,
pulls us together toward our eclipses and equinoxes, or else,
like shooting meteors speeding by tangentially, to flame and fall,
burning to ember, leaving so little essence to remember— If we come
like rain, freely,
with a downpouring of smiles and or tears,
running breathlessly, in answer to each other's call, then.
Or else.
We should wish for each other the dawn of brighter suns.

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