The Promise
March 8, 1995
It is carried over the distant mountain
and up the river valley
on a thick wind.
I hear it in the promise of rain
and the forest's restless motion.
Once the moment arrives
I stand,
shedding garments like old lives
and turn to where the river
flows dark beneath a stand of trees.
I dive into the blackness,
cold water draws me into its depths.
Rising, I pull, deliberately,
towards the other side
as rain begins to fall.
On the far shore
I find nothing but myself
and the rain-drenched forest,
the gentle swinging of birch
and the white heart of thunder.