Become the stone


tree near sacred groveIMG_6582


To become the stone,


Of schist,


The rock,


The song




Drifting in the emeralds of awakening,


The clattering bone,


The feet wandering


Upon the sand


Of the wave lost


In the band


Of rain rent,


Long on the desolate


Sand-pipered shore…


To become the fire,


The pyre,


The blessed burning


Of the ashen dead,


From their cindered bed,


Sent into skies unknown,


Is to become


The wind against the flaming gong


To go,


And going, to be gone,


Over the moon-haunted mountain of mist


Where the flock


Of white geese


Wait, innocent,




And waiting and watching,


They become an unbound


Eternity of snow,






Where the one who can never be found,


Hidden still in the fine gold traces


Of the ancient knowing faces


Of the gods of Kailasanathar,


Is always and evermore


Mother of the delicate


Blue tattered rose strung


On the sun-templed tree


Near the climbing windlit towers of the dawn


Of peace.




© Sharon St Joan, photo and poem, 2013





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