Just along the A5
Past Weston Park
An early morning drive
Ripe to be surprised
Inner self or outer self
Collective unconscious
Or something deeper
Daffodils in bloom deep within
The sunken soul
Like a ghost
Or a drowned man floating to the surface
The movement was a continuum
Without jar or jolt, the rising
Om, Om, Om for a lost love
Later, in peace, quiet, calm, tranquillity
Om cannot resurrect
From the pit of the body to the tip of the mind
There is no traffic to carry the urn of any kind
The ashes have flown on the wind
Unable to rescind the cindered lingered candle
A flickering, flickering, sickening, failing glow
Extinguished, vanquished, decayed
A dying atmospheric orb
But it did happen
And for that I thank more than I can ever know
I write these words of thanks
To tell you, of what I do not know
Is that how the flower feels in pollination
Some union with an Albion of kind
Was it received or reciprocated or was it bounded
Then bandaged; was it unrequited love
Like the kite blown along the breeze
Or Donald Shimoda in timeless flight
It is a Messiah’s handbook which helps me discover
To recover the greetings of souls; souls meeting
Greeting together as deep below; below as above
