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.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem