The spare cold beauty of a February hilltop –
pale trembling beech leaves, the tall mastless sails
of clouds, whale joyous
moving in varied concert –natural piccolo and bass,
conducted by the wind’s imaginative hand.
The bright heel of morning’s moon,
rises to the sun’s blue threshold -  and disappears!
In mind stopping meeting
something hidden is recognized;
Divinity’s inner edge leaps open and upwards,
seeks to discover and realize within itself
the distant peaks,
thesense and soft tune of the great branches’
pinegreen perseverance.
Past the pure space of deathless intimation
beyond the eye’s light domain – and back.
Breath rises and falls its fountain course
in the body garden…
Sings wordlessly
the more perfect
voice of its older existence.

                   - Richard Springer