simonhlilly

And is it not true,
Waiting a while in darkness
There blooms a sky
Once blank
Now full more and
More of stars?

And so, too,
in silence waiting
We see thoughts roar and multiply,
Emotions self-arise, endlessly,
and, fecund, roll
To oblivion.

It happens without effort,
This stretching, purring cat close by,
These hillsides echoing
With wild cries of foxes.
This air, motionless, cool,
A taste wrapped in grass and woodsmoke.

Without edge,
Without distinction,
Mind fills up all space.

The world, a cup
Half empty of sorrow,
Is half full of joy.
Yet we thirst
And must drink
Regardless.

Gulping life,
A taste to keep us,
A withstanding
of emptiness.

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