Something happened in Russia.
He came back white, with blood veins webbing his brow.
Something happened to him in Russia
and I have him now.

Now once again I must tend him,
a gardener coaxing the roots to bear
Spring shoots that force their way up through the wintry earth
into the birth of air.

Air is the breath of promise I must fan
out of a stagnant sky and bring alive;
prayer from my lips must then impel from static clouds
rain to pour down like bees swarming from their hive,

hives holding hope to fertilize the opening buds
nourishing soul and body. I must be
the god who has fallen silent, promise broken.
Now it’s all up to me,

me in my solitary domain since he flew away to Russia
where a blood moon and mesmerizing night
danced him towards the sound of voices buzzing
and the end of an endless return flight

flight back to me as if I can once more carry
the gardening tools of time and trade
while my own heart is frozen, cracked by the flight to Russia,
and our oblivious god in his baking desert
sleeps off his workday under a sole gourd’s shade.

LRH
3.10.07

Linda Hepner

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/something-happened-2/