The Promise

March 8, 1995

It is carried over the distant mountain

and up the river valley

on a thick wind.

I hear it in the promise of rain

and the forest's restless motion.

Once the moment arrives

I stand,

shedding garments like old lives

and turn to where the river

flows dark beneath a stand of trees.

I dive into the blackness,

cold water draws me into its depths.

Rising, I pull, deliberately,

towards the other side

as rain begins to fall.

On the far shore

I find nothing but myself

and the rain-drenched forest,

the gentle swinging of birch

and the white heart of thunder.