POEM - Atonement

In the rounded buds at the tips of branches
Is where the secret of everything resides;
This kind of sleep is made of unexpected wanting -
Fist-like and wrapped tight, a whispered promise
That tomorrow is always there, waiting.
The suddenness of morning light offers forgiveness
To the darkness, like an open hand, with
Fingers of streaming reunion and welcoming
Against the long winter overcoat that is night.
Atonement is built into everything, both visible and not;
Reparation and the anticipation
Of reparation is what we hold out for, what we cling to,
In our deepest most secretive places.

It is the kissing breeze which carries off
The oppressive and muscular heat,
It brushes away the flies, it is the cool drink
That ennervates our slumbering hearts.
It fills us with hope and an abiding satisfaction.

M C Biegner