THE TWILIGHT LANGUAGE

 

Before the sun sets, the landscape grows dense

And darkens into ambiguity.

 

All objects take on a significance

At once familiar and hard to see.

 

What we dismissed as nothing new or strange—

Trees, stone, moss, fences, sky, stars, grass, river—

Speak to our hearts in the twilight language.

 

The boundaries of our bodies quiver,

And we dissolve like raindrops in the sea.

 

A lightning flash illuminates the gloom

Of all our furtive, momentary dreams.

 

The mudras of the pine boughs pierce the moon’s

Mandala and the mantra of the wind

Chants wordless tones that still the storm within.