The
wandering stream
Finding its
own way
From
mountain rain to sea –
The scent
of mosses.
Holding the
line
As breath
flows
Effortless
the beginning
Pause
So, the
unfolding into next.
Rhythm of
the between
Spring
sprung sprang,
In this unfolding is a return
To a place
of the heart.
That’s all.
Passing by
the same places
But now
with different mind-sight,
Seeing not
just points of arrival
But the
spaces between,
This bridge
of dreams
A point of
transition.
If I sit
quiet enough
The light
unfolds itself.
No effort
required
Grasping emptiness.
Stones hold
their stories
Enshrined stillness
in flow.
