Ears of the Fountain

I sit here by the fountain -- your fountain,
caressed by mists and music of the fall --
perhaps meant for another;
as I did not come by right of passage,
nor as a life-thirsty traveler,
but as one who would learn
more of forgiveness.

I muse over your fine offerings here --
opened hearts in simple awe and pain,
and sense your still vibrant presence
on the firm stones around me,
each slight indentation on the granite
but a lingering fingerprint of God;
and I shall pay attention.

I followed no serpent, save the one
ever wrapped around my yearning soul --
for Oroborus encircles my passion
in woven cycles of rebirth song
in which shallbeen and everwhen
are but whispers of my being;
and I shall pay attention.

Yet, as I sit alone in the bright shadows --
listening -- absorbing -- embracing;
I already sense a pulsing rhythm
that might guide my chance later sharing.
In timeless draw the word 'forgiveness'
is misspelled and therefore disengaging!
Consider friends the portent of 'fore-giving'.

papa