Years of water trickled down from the mountains of genesis
how lucky I am to have waited,
the old ice that melted
became my body of water to bathe in.
It may have seemed an
endless 11th hour narrative
but my ghost writer no longer needs his quill to edit.
Perhaps I too, I am re-imagining.
For all the nights I prayed through the rain
never did I dream
that once I would awake
to a neoteric
quite like this.
