Sparkling river of silence,
Traveler along a shadowy forest floor—
I drink deep draughts, lasting,
Of your overflowing stillness!
Tipping your goblet,
I taste your darkness
As floral wine
Swirling inside a crystal
And breathe in perfume.
Fingers of a spellbound existence
Stop my ears.
Awe, black thief, steals my voice.
Bereft of noise, I am
Transfixed as the blood moon
Hovering, windless night,
Balanced on the sword tip of time.
The world is motionless
As my spirit moves
And my stumbling heart is filled
By a presence…and quiet…
A quiet presence.
Originally published in On the Rusk, Issue 7, page 1
|Transfixed as the blood moon, hovering...|