Alven L. Robinson


The Mountain Night


The mountain night was heard,

no Word, just the trails of sound,

the echo surrounds of deepened

hues, the whispered views of winds

waiting to begin, listening for a sign,

a time, a moment to become, the Will

still to be done, now just silent,

composed, dwelling in the wings,

the sacristy of things to be revealed,

limpidity concealed by the trace,

the emptiness of space, embraced

by the unseen, the presence, the essence

meandering through the room, a loom

of thought, its weavings caught

in shadow light, ­­­ lone candle left

to search the night.

Submitted: Thursday, June 12, 2014
Edited: Monday, June 16, 2014

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