After Watching "The Weeping Meadow" By Theo Angelopoulos Poem by Daniel Brick

What will you find when you
finally find him? Summer's
glow will dim even as your
long journey ends in discovery.
It will rain day after day,
a harsh rain slashing leaves
from trees, drowning their roots.
But you will not concern yourself
with the season. Your gaze will
fixed in the middle distance
where you expect to see him and he you.
You will be unaware of the rain
lacerating your face. You will simply
postpone the sensation of pain,
anticipating joy. Or will it be a long
dark day in winter that you find him.
With snow piled against walls, corridors
of snow and slippery sidewalks, you will
cautiously drive your rented car down
unfamiliar streets, rehearsing out loud
the first words you will speak in greeting.
The huddled shapes, pulling their coats tight
against their bodies, are not him, but could
anyone of them be a substitute, and bring
your search to an ambiguous closure?
The very thought angers you, and things
around you suddenly shift to spring.
You find yourself sitting in a wooden bench
in an urban park. Your mood is sanguine.
You are smiling because children are at play,
while their mothers gossip nearby. You see
shapes of men, some hurrying across the lawn
oblivious to the day's beauty, others walk
slowly and pause frequently in admiration
of flowers, trees, birds. You could be any one
of those men, you are at home here. But inside
you are crying, your mission unfulfilled,
you are ready to declare the great god Pan
is dead, the Mars probe blew up, fighting goes
on and on in Syria, the dollar weakens further.
Any of these things could replace your mission.
But I know you need him, he most definitely
needs you. Look, there is still one season
left to you. You may still cross paths with him.
What will you find when you find him?