Mountain Whippoorwill

When an empty chair is full
When the mist rolls in from the past
When the afghan is a heap on the floor
When there is residue of body warmth
That beckons your soul
When the stag awakens in a sky full of ash
It struggles in a cloud of charcoal angst.

The world is blackened
Against loves vigil
The thought of loss is deafening
The pain of the smoldering world
Demands everything
The requiem mass dictates the sadness
Yet the water fall pours into the trees

There is a portent of peace
The gulls fly through the mist in grace
We come to terms with was
When we can separate beauty from pain
When the gentle flute steps away
From the piano's minor chords
The mountain whippoorwill sings