The council of friends yields and disappears.
Incense recedes into four corners
As deed and circumstanace smash idols
And puncture illusions of logic and law.
In a ritual of solitude the bowl-jar
Cups its stick and beckons to oneness
On a round red and yellow pillow.
Power animals freeze their dance.
Then insight seizes the body and soul
Like a star that holds a night in trance.
Thrice it strikes the hollow of the self
And resonance bursts into flowers all over,
Into a vision of some new structure
For decentering, healing, and human care.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem