AT THE SOUND OF THE BOWL
I sound this bowl with wood
It is brass and the ring it makes
Is pure, and for long it lasts
Past mind, past time
Into distant realms it sounds
Past streets and corners
Way past waiting for buses, past driving licenses,
Past Mum, past Dad, past brothers and sisters
Past cigarettes, past alcohol, past choices
Past a first kiss, past even my first breath
And there it goes, there it rings
Way on into subconscious
Where peace brings in calmness
And serenity
No drug to this,
just awareness of reverberation
In empty wells forever
Is there anyone there? Hello!
And then a distant Echo
And didn't I wish sometimes
For another voice to call
So lonely, even in a crowd
Where thoughts are kept in windy autumn streets
Where all I hear is the rattle and roll
Of all the leaves that pass me by
As on their serrated edges they scuff and scurry
To nowhere in particular
And won't it be nice to just to compare
The sound of the bowl tomorrow.