The Sunday Son Poem On the Return

Canticle On the Return of the Peepers

It begins just like the squeaking of a wheel
somewhere in the wetlands. Earth is turning
slowly on its rusty axis. Listen to
the innocence behind the worn cliché though—
this is particle collision in its essence.

Ice has melted after being in the shadow
of the earth for much too long. Twice hydrogen
and oxygen alone is giving little carbon-based
amphibians such holy voice and psalms are pouring
from their gentle bodies filling night with April

glories: Sun, they sing, has been here; Sun, they sing,
will be here in the morning; Sun, they sing, the sun!
And here I listen to their song, reflecting on
its meaning, lectio divina, so translating
what I can for you: the mystic coming then

to light again; the once becoming future now;
the always in your heart; the being in your blood;
the everlasting taste; its conscious sound;
this sight; our life;
new found.

~Son Rivers 2008