Stillness looming

This is the

Storm before the still,

The wandering listless

Before the clearing

Found. The echo

Before it fades.

And in that still lays,

Perhaps that essence

Of me, my Self stripped

Bare of pretension,

Assumption and chatter

To leave

What?

The soundless echo

The one hand clap

The unobserved tree

Fall in the woods.

That which cannot be

Seen and yet is 

Right before us,

Within, around.

That which transcends

Thought and the

Thinker.

A faint whispered

Silence a

Colourless hue

An impossibility that

Wants to be touched.

In that still I hope

For clarity of spirit

Soul soaring high

Into depths.

And a little dog laughed

To see such a sport

And the wish

And the hope

And the moon.