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Wickaninnish
(“Place of Roaring Waters”)
Now you are here. Where the first people saw the world arrive in flickering
interstices of rain, the mountains
and trees shaping themselves
at the edge of the sky, the colours
free-floating, turning
after rain. And in the later
silence, not yet knowing what they
left behind, they woke;
listened to the pebbled dark.
You are here, the sign says, but
you want to be before that, you want
to stand wide and cedared in the sun,
the swift clusters of hail,
the songs of a bird
opening silence—
(from Kyrie, by Barbara Colebrook Peace)