Seeing Stone

By the cluster of Honey Fungus

beneath the oaks and by ivy vine

and while the shadows play among us,

the Seeing Stone stands —silent, divine.

Through its circle you can see by eye

beyond the veil of a mortal ’s thoughts,

leaves, trees, a columned hall neath the sky

and the viewpoint whereby truth is sought.

Gaze in to gaze out, eye to the stone,

the self becalmed within rounded frame

to concentrate what is One alone

and know the world by its wordless name.

With one eye closed and one eye opened

we see Life and Death, that grave starkness

known of beginning, betwixt, and end —

the laughing light and deaf-mute darkness.

The Standing Stone was born of the land

in ages long past, before Man rose,

planted in the wombed-tomb by no hand,

knowing the mysteries no one knows.

We may see through this bone of the earth

the living world known as we waken

and, one eye closed, the world before birth

and after death, all such dreams taken.

Daguerreotype Dawn

The road lazed
to the left,
then
ever
so
slowly
to the right,
flowing silver-gray
like color-faded
memory
to reveal
a languid voyeurism
of black fences,
black cedars,
two copper-green fields
as the sun burnished the feathery grass
into blades of
jutting light
which the Black Angus cows
chewed
absentmindedly,
the dark heft of their
block-printed bodies
not unlike
iodine shadows
solidifying thickly
in the gold-chloride
gorgon glare
of Dawn.