Miscanthus flowering heads
Bending to the grace of autumn,
Birdsong and pure light
Leading us deeper than before-
Forms dissolving into experience.
Timeless stones rising from a gravel ocean
Gathering their energies to rise from earth,
Erupting into musical forms beyond the ear
Giving birth to a kingdom beyond the eye-
Ancient voices woven into a breeze beyond time
Scattered over the mossed floor
Fallen leaves –
Autumn’s sanguineous whisperings.
Chasing restlessly the Centre of it all-
Pure love as perfect stillness unfolding itself.
The gate is open
All senses flow without ceasing,
Above the city a black kite
Calling, calling, calling,
Until its voice becomes sky itself.
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