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The comfort of the rain
Pentecost Sunday,
June Nineteen-Ninety,
and the world hasn’t yet
blown its fatal hole in the ozone layer.
Jesus is further delayed
for reasons not fully stated:
the extra nineteen hundred years
have left us time to study eschatology
and learn the meanings of The time is short
which Paul could not have known. Tonight
across the city in a thousand churches
hands will be raised
to a hundred thousand slightly different Gods,
and voices will call down the Spirit’s fire
as they called to Baal on Carmel,
but there is no Elijah, no Simon Peter,
no tongue of flame on the wet branches
in this almost empty park, only these last few children
who swing through arcs of gravity,
who spin on the axis of this roundabout
feeling the pull of nameless forces
and the comfort of the rain.
© Godfrey Rust 1990, godfrey@wordsout.co.uk. See here for permissions.