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by Roy K Austin
Mourning dove is in the wood
sounding through my observations,
sunset on the mountain top
giving back the constellations,
nightjar mimics in the air
round an empty house of prayer ;
wonder fills an awe-struck mind
high above the sleeping land,
all is written out tonight
by another author's hand :
Energetic patterns dance
stir the fire which forged the brain,
the brain which forged the world of man ;
who sees the whole as the divine
has plunged the depths for the profound
and crossed the metamorphic line
where all eternity is found.
My swinging pendulum is still,
as I observe above the hill,
a world beyond all measure,
the stars, trans temporal as ever.
From Towards Atman.