Having taken stock of
Heaven’s words of silence
It becomes as clear as
The blue sky at dusk.

Taking to my haven now
Time off from my pursuit
But no clarity to be found
Not least where the dust is.

That my skin dries grey
Is not of my interest here
Underneath walnut burl lies
And a prism plays its tricks.

Sands have drifted southward
My belly fills with inland flows
Exchanging exchanges for a change
And deep within a burning fire glows.