From silence
doors open —
sometimes far off ringing,
sometimes mute throbbing,
sometimes rambling
voices of ancestors,
or strangers
tapping at my window
wondering,
sometimes a tree
in its final unleaving.
Drawing my ear down,
I pick up the thread,
hold it just so
before it trails away,
and listen, listen.
Poems from in between 
4 responses to “From the contemplatives”
Sometimes the wisdom and gentleness of a poet. 🙂
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🙂 Or the not quite saneness …
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I like the idea of shifting from thought to ancestors to strangers to the “real world” tree, and I love the word-image of a tree “in its final unleaving” – a beautiful description of the essence of contemplation.
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Well, I owe the ‘unleaving’ to Gerard Manley Hopkins (‘Margaret, are you grieving/over golden grove unleaving’), so I need to own up on that. So glad you enjoyed it!
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