by roy k austin
I feel an uplift at the edge
on wings that glide the scaur,
as grasses slant away with me
to sails that list offshore .
I feel the poles of east and west
as the seer and the seen,
when will the knower and the known
be married in between?
Am I this cliff, this point of view,
the oblivious sky,
I see the curve, the rolling globe
resolve into the eye.
A self - unreal - that lifeless moon
that shimmers on the sound,
is man the last deciphered rune -
the ground, the very ground ?
From Towards Atman
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