Who are you? I called.
And then the echo came
(the taste was strange).
As all the glowing sensate world
imploded into One.
A roaring, incandescent summer tide.
The probing flow of water seeping
through the limestone core
Patiently, as drop by drop vast palaces are born.
Great stalactites of sound
The echo falls.
I light the winding spirit paths
with brands of darkened fire,
The answer comes, the inward breath,
encoded in my cells.
It dances on the edge of sight;
It sings within my bones.
* * * * *
How strange it is
coming home to oneself
after all this time.
to find that there is time enough and more
to do the things I love
having first relinquished the requirement to achieve.
the richness of days – not worrying how many may remain –
each hour full of texture like the nubbled wool
of homespun tapestry
and time has stopped
in the ever-present now
The world is silent,
yet I hear
sporadic twittering of birds.
distant echo of the Sydney train –
warning whistle blasts,
the officious clattering of rails.
Meaning is everywhere,
each mote a swirling cosmos.
A sudden flash of sunlight
gilds the leaves outside my window
laughing at the dawn.