Hiding is the hidden purpose of creation.
Bury your seed and wait.
After you die,
all the thoughts you had
will throng around like children.
The heart is the secret inside the secret.
Call the secret language
and never be sure what you conceal.
It’s unsure people who get the blessing.
Climbing jasmine, opening rose, nightingale song,
these are inside the chill November wind.
They are its secret.
How did you discover mine?
Your laugh.
Only the soul knows what love is.
This moment in time and space is an eggshell
with an embryo crumpled inside,
soaked in spirit-yolk,
under the wing of grace,
until it breaks free of mind
to become the song of birds and their breathing.
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