The voice utters
what the eye cannot reach—it provokes us—
from moment to moment!
“You think too much
of articulation, “ it says.
“Do you understand
how the roots of a tree
are folded,
wait in the icy cold soil
for the warmth of the sun to
break through?”
Time moves slowly …seasons
pursuing seasons— in the country,
and in the city...
It’s good to gain more strength!
Roots stretch, stretch, stretch
in the dark—
to find deliverance.
Eventually they lift
themselves out,
welcomed by the light,
encompass wider worlds,
are beyond space confined,
shine by their own light.
Wide, oh so wide—
the height of the crown
is delight!
