I had no dreams last night
so have nothing to report
except the weather

yet I’ve never been able
to chant with all the intelligent
reverence it deserves
the uncanny mystery of snow.
So what shall we talk about now?

Somehow we are children
still in the nursery
and every thing we see
is a window onto something else.

There, that’s something said,
something transcendent.
Never doubt the word that comes.
It is the portal of the temple,
open door to love’s boudoir.

1 February 2021