to knees...

It has the feeling of falling through the floor,
a descent from obvious to subliminal,
by dreams that rise in smoke
cling to ceiling into an invisible fall
soaking into us, through skin into marrow,

where we breathe them within;
blend them into physical essence
perfecting thought into tissue--
to live as we live, die when we die--

and what of sorrows so deep as marrow
so intrinsic as blood and breath;
what of the sadness that descends
covers us as night: in endless boundless depths
where spirit flickers like last candle,
where only the love we have created
covers the raw state of existence.

When we are alone with empty hands,
hands that once held a child... what of life
when it becomes an empty space, airless
useless even to carry an echo...
What of the storm that never leaves us dry
whips us with painful hard rain

Once in childhood dreams, through a window
I saw Grandmother alone and cold
driven to knees by hard rain--Now

the dreamer-child
brought awake by rains, to knees;
lips move to wordless prayers,
knelt in hard rain
looking into an empty window.