by roy k austin
(Dorset England)

(Towards Atman)

Catkins droop as buds promise,
snowdrops point me to the spring,
hazels branch into existence
mark their cycle with a ring,
inner growth to outer space-
the solar map is in the bole,
as I approach that little brook
to linger there and take a look,
to listen to her running stream
that I might understand a dream
that rippled whispers to my soul ;
to see the answer-what is truth
fly off as down from lion-tooth,
forlorn and light, a fairy-tale
to scatter truth beyond the veil:

Hear the volley of a shotgun
crack like a disruptive curse,
what brought it to the ground
destroyed a consummated universe;

all in cipher to maroon
and to an eye I cannot keep,
from the valleys of the moon
nothing has occured but sleep,
weightless as in slumber laid
I see the earth unnamed, unmade.

site: wonder

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