THE RETURNING

After the pounding rainstorm and before the street
became unpuddled, the old man sidled up to his sleeping
wife, nuzzled her soft as fog, his unshaven cheek barely
touched her bare smooth shoulder like burnished sheaves
of barley and wheat in the wind.

She dreamt of an antique calliope within a waterfall of sound
where antelope and hummingbirds cavort, refresh
themselves in the cool spray of music’s cacophony
bounding off granite and ferns into the valley verdant
below.

Later, they would sip strong coffee at their scratched
kitchen table and in slow silence watch pools of rain/
water dissolve from the long curving driveway into
the day’s open arms.

Each sweet simple moment shared
as reverent as a death
unto the next
and the next
and the next,
a return of rain
and mystery dream
to its sky source,
infinite pristine.