Listen to the Moon

The language of the heart
is silence.
Creation is the echo.
You can hear that.
But can you listen
to This?
  Why not let a thrush
at twilight
bring you here?
The light of the soul
is darkness.
The moon, the mountain,
the face of snow, the eye
of your beloved -
all a mirage, a shadow.
You can see that.
But can you gaze
at This?
Why not
become the radiance
that turns us all
into mirrors?



I wish I could show you
the ancient starlight
pouring into your body
through this breath.
I wish I could reveal
the power of your heartbeat,
one now, one now,
and the stillness between,
how it turns the world.
I want to share
the withered Gospel
of an alder leaf,
but its whisper is too quiet.
The chime of raindrops
after midnight
threading your dreams
through emptiness.
What wind and sky,
the moon in her falling snow,
the fur of healing curled
around its silent wound,
long to tell you:
that who you strive to become
is not nearly so lovely
as who you Are.