Rain, like trails of tears battering at my sorrows, spews through the barren limbs of sycamore and oak trees. And the old coat clinging to my shivering body is soaked. I feel like a drenched coyote thrashing through a meadow, hunting for symbols of dry redemption. I have walked this path before, this rain-sodden path of damp memories and untold secrets, always alone, like a friendless hermit. I am trying to slumber under the embrace of a blanket of yesterday’s fading memories. But there is no way back to that corridor of time with its thorns and smoothness. I sense the fragrance of long-gone roses wilting in the fading hours of lost time, still clinging in my mind. Is this a dream, or is it just my aging mind imaging these things, as I seem to watch umbrae walking on my same path? As hours tick away inside an old grandfather clock, I sense my time is also ticking away, and thoughts stagger over illusions veiled by a new reality. I taste imaginary ashes from the bones of my youth and kneel on the altar of wonder, as the rainwater filters through the earth, flowing down to the deep caverns below. I fantasize that I could quench my thirst for more living if I could just dip my hands into that pure water and drink its magical coolness before it dribbles through my mind.

James G. Piatt, a poet and novelist, lives in Santa Ynez, California, with his wife Sandy, and a dog named Scout. He has published five collections of poetry, The Silent Pond, Ancient Rhythms, LIGHT, Solace Between the Lines, and Serenity, over 1790 poems, five novels, and forty short fiction stories in scores of national and international literary journals. He was nominated twice for the Best of Net award, and four times for a Pushcart award. He earned his doctorate from BYU, and his BS and MA from California State Polytechnic University, SLO.