Sometimes lost to the meticulous grinding
of what this world has become,
he feels the pull of an inner gravity,
calling him down,
into the silence of himself.

To wait for the low murmer of voices,
just out of hearing distance,
straining to grasp their subtle reason.
The sound of rapidly approaching thunder,
a storm on the rise.

The crackling of dying fires,
their glowing embers searching only,
for the cool,black knowledge
of surviving the flames, transformed.

The shadow of himself receding,
into the calm reality of verse.