Aubade

Before I leave there will be no rain

(Parched season of the heart;
dried tinder of a nations folly)
Before I leave there will be no rain
(Unfathomable collocations of
the star-coursed ecstacy)
Before I leave there will be no rain
(no generous rivulets splashing from
The gutters down flimsy Communist lead).
In some ways they had to tame this wayward
wildness (before I leave there will be
no rain) no fertile thoughts
Can grow in this dusty wilderness; can thrust
Among the jarringly rock-cropped
headlands, these screes and promontories,
Upon the veil of our local monasterys bright lights burning,
with Fate and lifes obscurer work,
to the owls hoot and at night keeping pace.
You re-incinerate me, Sakartvelo!
as you reinvent me:
You rail at my presumption in leaving.

busy

(Before I leave there will be no rain.)

3 a.m. 17 August 2015, Bolnisi