I look far out to sea where waves conceived
in storms begin their marathon, each sweeping
to the distant shores, from which they leave,
returning to their origin of weeping
sky. The coasts they visit, weathered by
their countless multitudes, like heaven’s halls
by sounds of praise, familiar with the cry
of surf, are temples filled with mighty calls.
I wonder as I view the sea about
another storm, conceived by man, that sends
its waves towards the shore, but who can shout
to silence it, a storm we all defend,
made from our long neglect of all that’s good –
the world, its rhythms, humbly understood.
I stand here in the centre of a field.
Above me in the centre of the sky
the sun is there, another I I feel
I am an echo of. Or is the I
a more pervasive term, the language of
our consciousness, the single eye through which
the universe is seen? Here all that was
is new in individual view. How rich
a thing we share with whales and dolphins, cows
and bees! I do not think the sun can think,
but when I see its sphere, its unique power
that reigns alone upon the air, I drink
another consciousness from which I come,
and every other mind beneath the sun.
A flock of cockatoos is flying, sunlit
How can a face migrate – for sometimes I
can see a face I knew now in another.
Is this one way a family line
remains? A sea of time may separate
but genes dictate a likeness stays. And now
I see your face in mine. Your face becomes
a frame of me, and mine where your identity
is hanging on the wall. For this
is what two people know when love begins a
line that branches from the one
great human tree. But still it is a great
surprise to see someone in other’s eyes,
and find the face of God is mirrored there,
and every I is seen in every you.
When you were born I thought about the bells.
finds another form lying hidden there.
He works so patiently. His carving calls
what lay within into the morning air.
The grain inside our hearts is meant to feel
the sculptor’s hands. We need his skill to find
us there – his eye to see what lies concealed –
and match us to the image in his mind.
All that exists is one majestic tree.
Its roots are sunk into eternity.
Its branches stretch into the world to be.
Within its form he sees both you and me.
What is this beauty in our grain?
What God has placed there shall remain.
For on a single piece of wood
the universe was understood.
A tiny tadpole in a pond that swims