During ‘the hours’

“Theologians may quarrel, but the mystics of the world speak the same language.” (Meister Eckhart)

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The light drops off their lips like thick honey

From the mouths of bees, and their large eyes

Are like those of the great horned owl.

I listen. I look. During ‘the hours’.

Their words make a knot in the middle of my throat.

Discerning glances burn an amethyst in my heart.

‘In the desert a city’ they say, cells like beehives

On the sides of mountains drenched in starlight

This is to have understood something of electricity

When it is revealed as a flash of white lightning.

Like life itself which brings everything.

MGM, (Gerringong, Jan.24th, 2022)