(Marked: ‘To a friend of Wera’s’, that is, himself.)
Silent friend of those far away, sense
How your breath expands space.
Amidst the beams of the gloomy belfry,
Let yourself toll. It is a succubus who
Feeds on your sustenance.
Enter and exit, in your metamorphoses.
If your experiences have been painful
And drinking them has been bitter, turn them into wine.
In this night of excess, be
Magically empowered, at this crossroads of your feelings,
And become the meaning of this strange conjoining.
And if what is of earth forgets you,
Say to that earth of silence: I flow.
Say to the rushing waters: I am.
© Robert Temple 2010. Website designed by Jonathan Greet