In the gray light before dawn, raindrops
stutter on the roof as I lie alone in bed,
a blue blanket pulled up to my chin.
A sheet of rain hides the far shore of
the lake, but I can see an orange reflection
from the headlight of a motorcycle
shimmer on the road below the cottage.
Silver threads of rain slide down the
windows near the bed and two branches
of a maple tree bend and sway like
lovers, one above the other.
An angel could descend out of the windy
sky to tell me how immeasurably
perfect all this is, but I don’t need an angel
to remind me of what I know already.
I want to hear an angel tell me
about emptiness and silence. I want
to hear about the one who is not here.
© 2011 J.M.Keating