Outside The Window Snow Was Sailing
Through The Sky
Outside the window snow was
sailing through the sky.
The slope of the side of the
mountain dissolved before the eye.
Clouds came crowding down
while wind carried the flurries high.
The white surf washed
against grey granite bulks til nothing there was dry.
And this was a scene in a
dream.
Tinted window went from
floor to past eye.
The scene was a scene in a
dream.
Like on a screen of a world
beyond I.
The strength of the mountain
was like the slope of one shoulder.
The head was in the clouds
above reach.
And the rolling snow caught
by the wind was a spirit.
Waves of light pouring down
and along a shining beach.
The height and the light and
the cold and the cloud.
The flurry and the falling
and the rolling and pouring.
So where was the heart as
this weather made its way?
Where was the watcher inside
in the foreground?
What company did he keep in
warm room by the window?
Did the fire in the hearth
tint the window and surrounds?
I remember the distraction
of the beautiful scene.
The softness and the swirl
and the whiteness and kindness.
The slope so smooth like
some tilted horizon.
The slow-motion presence of
this world beyond mine.
But I was listening to the
words I was making in response.
Feeling utterly unable to
trust in their labels.
What conjurations I could
speak could compare with this beauty?
And it cried out for justice
for at least one or two words.
Dissolving inside in the
challenge of this beauty I spoke.
The words something
‘awareness’ and ‘consciousness’ too came out.
And a feeling inside
multiplied just behind the words and within.
Not talking ‘about’ but being the very words that came forth.
‘Awareness’ and
‘consciousness’ filled the room like a wave.
A warm-coloured ocean
radiating and carrying smiles.
And the eye for who I was in the dream expanded outward,
Becoming a circle of friends
and the window and outside.
3-9-11
