The Messenger

by Shannon Johnson

how beautiful upon the mountains
is the good news coming
coming in the vessels and the veins
in the thunder-rooted throbbing of these feet
in the wind of the thrown dust passing

what is it like,
the good news coming?
like dawn wind in your eyes upon the opening
of a thousand windows you never knew were there
like letting go of the side of the pool
to find you can swim

what is it like,
the good news coming?
like waking fevered for the thousandth time
from a bloodlined dream that always comes back
where you’re trying to scream and can’t make a sound
only to find that you know how to sing
with all the sky listening

what is it like
the good news coming?
like living ten years in a round room
on top of a house, in sight of the sea

watching every night the sunset paint a path of gold
upon the water – and then one day
going down to the shore
to find a ship
waiting