Reminiscent Of Lost Hours

The tolling of bells
reminiscent of lost hours.
A rooster seen atop the tree,
recalls the mornings in a lost village.
In a flash of lightning, the rooster sees
the coming of the rain.
A delayed rain
past a refrain,
come rain, fall again.
Something must grow
in the lost hours of the lost village.
The past when it collides with the moments now,
can water the seeds sunken in the ground.

The sound of water over the rock,
the sound of water rising in jets
of fountains singing in the dark,
and I look for the key I lost
as it slipped somewhere along the edge
of the rowing boat as it bounced in the wind and the storm.
The agony of the thunder when there is no rain,
the agony of the torch light falling
on empty spaces,
The agony of the call
where the prisons and palaces are all alike!
The sea is swelling in brisk tides.
They break and spread, forgetful upon the shore.