Precisely

Precisely

(“I am with you now, I will protect you everywhere you go, and I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done everything that I have promised you.” Genesis 28:15)

I had nearly forgotten the dreams that led me,
nearly forsaken the voice that called me,
for my loneliness speaks so loudly in the wilderness,
so cleanly, so distinctly, each syl / la / ble  pre /cise / ly
uttered.

The rain is white noise, good for sleeping, good for supporting
the crackle and syncopathy of dropped syllables letter; an even
better background to syncopate popcorn for a four minute b-side
while the rain drones on.

I need someone to strike the upbeat, catch me off guard, teach me
to jump when everyone else is landing. I need the summer rain that
makes dancing better joy than silent sunny afternoon.

I’ve checked, and just this morning a new gift was waiting on the
single empty space my desk offered. I had not prayed for something to
wake me,
nor to be moved from my dysthymia. My usual walk is slow and
painfully willing, quickly distilling the reading I must finish before
I can return with the door closed behind me and pray the pain will
give me room enough to sleep the afternoon away.

But on the open space, directly in front of my chair, a dolphin
pointed to the sky, handcarved and wrapped in silk. Her grandmother
died just a month ago, and among the keepsakes she found a treasure
she knew
her friend would adore. I love dolphins because they make me smile,
I smiled because my teenage friend left her grandmother’s dolphin,

And I am unworthy of such friendship; the one who overhears the
unheard whispers
as if they are conspiracies to burgle my joy. One more dolphin,
one more friend, and again I say, He has gone with me every way,
one down to another upbeat, and still teaches me the heavenly
tunes my fingers are still learning to play.