I want to stand under the water

that flows from the moon

and across jagged downpour rocks,

and as I stare at the once

great god of old,

now on fire, raging mishap and

cold blue accident,

I see it melt, I hear the cries

of the one that shot

the arrow into the sky

and wept as it pierced

its heart, dying

now, slowly

over rocks

and its life dilutes

as it merges with the pool.

 

Ian D. Hall 2018