Life rolls towards you, giving and breaking. You hear:
Grief-cries, hunger’s anger, despair’s numb crash;
a torn whisper conjures the ghosts of chance.
Longing flowers inside its lapse,
white foliage rustles… Sighs from a cloud throat –
beyond fear, beyond rapture. You hear:
The angelic hiss of dreams;
gossip, rumours of war, Babel.
Each wind-honed wave yields to a singing vapour –
voice of the one and the many. You hear:
The sound of a million ripped temple veils.
The sound of a field of light harvesting itself.
The first sound and the last; both conjoined.
A sound curved as the Tao.