The Story Garden 5.0
Poetry
The Promise
The rain came,
at first, like spit and
scattered minions
in mild distaste
then filled streams
cracks and low
purple places before rising
to broad spaces between
rocks mounds and humps.
Hills offered refuge to
anxious uncountable feet –
washed off tenuous moorings
to drift - splashing thrashing
finally sinking as
our ark rocked up tide
over stilled scoffers before
the hull set dry on a
white boned promise
scattered beneath a rainbow
arching over the aching aching
ruin against aching
wrapped inside
the awful offering of
a new beginning.
--Jim Whalen
read bio