Summer Poem

Summer 2005 from NBPT

Sixty-seven sailboats point
to sea this summer solstice dawn
like high priests gathered to anoint
the season. Rain clouds have withdrawn—
acceding to this rising tide
of grace washing the countryside

with travelers (vacationing
from bureaucratic traps in time
circumnavigationing
a world of formless paradigm).
Holy lord god of all that’s good,
let us escape our livelihood.

~Son Rivers 2005
revised 6/22. S1,L5: 'the' to 'this. S2,L2: 'trips' to 'traps'. S2,L4: 'that' to 'a' & 'loss or' to 'formless'