Morning Star in the east,
tugging at the dawn,
let us not hold back this day.
Flowing rivulet at my feet,
trickling through the thawing snow,
a certain sign of spring.
The waning Moon,
reflected in the flow,
speaks to my heart.
Looking to the sky,
there is no moon!
A reflection bereft of its fount…
A lost soul,
rippling in the water,
untethered from its source.
Of course it’s the trees,
up to their usual tricks,
hiding, revealing, coaxing metaphors.
The sun shines upon the Moon,
The Moon shines upon the Water,
The Water shines upon Me.
A reflection of a reflection,
of a reflection of a reflection,
of That which shines within the Sun.
But I see only the reflection in the stream,
not the Moon that shines upon the Water
nor the Sun, that shines upon the Moon.
nor That which shines within the Sun.
A lost soul, a mere reflection,
bereft of my fount,
untethered from my Source.
So many layers of beauty to ponder,
Such sublime distances to travel,
to reach the Source of all that is.
Yet, in an moment,
in an instant,
we are there.