Waters of March


rain today, made me think of this song, beautiful lyrics

the waters of march (águas de março; excerpt)

a stick, a stone, it’s the end of the road
it’s the rest of a stump, it’s a little alone
it’s a sliver of glass, it is life, it’s the sun
it is night, it is death, it’s a trap, it’s a gun

the oak when it blooms, a fox in the brush
the knot in the wood, the song of a thrush
the will of the wind, a cliff, a fall
a scratch, a lump, it is nothing at all

it’s the wind blowing free, it’s the end of the slope
it’s a beam, it’s a void, it’s a hunch, it’s a hope
and the river bank talks of the waters of march
it’s the end of the strain, it’s the joy in your heart ….

©A. D. Joyce, 2016

God on the Freeway


It was only a Saturday,
and from my vantage
on the freeway,
breaks in the continuum approached
where the darkest clouds
would soon give way to brilliant sunlight.
But first, there was
an arbitrary line crossed
where sprinkling rain gave way
to blinding torrent,
deep and uncontrolled.
Time stretched out
in the shade of darkness,
all the cars in slow motion,
as God, She called to us
from the other side of the deluge,
Her sexy sky dressed
in gold and white taffeta
billowing bright.
And once there, dry and safe,
I continued to drive toward
that door of heaven.

©A. D. Joyce, 2014