Standing there upon the darkening sky,
A platform of luminous clarity,
The tides of blossoms and of falling leaves,
Pausing at the changing of the seasons,
At the intersection of many realms.
Heard in the moving and breathing vastness,
From everywhere in particular,
The long sound of a low, deep and clear bell,
Wavering and tense, yet gentle and kind.
Something other and not what we describe,
Resembling a hastily seen rainbow
Wrapping around the fertile fields of time.
Transcending our autobiographies,
Gold waves of light from the drum of the earth.