He had a wind's walk
the old man of the hills
the grotto dweller who was daft
they said - or drunk
from the more cynical.
On the air's own nectar
I supposed, or the gushing streams
that fed the year-round flowers
in the unending spring
of the rain mountain's life,
or the sunshafts through holes
in crazy-paving mists
that coil like woolly snakes
from the loquacious sea.
One day rocks will fall
before his cave hiding
from a curious world the skeleton
of one who knew
there was no time
nor is -
One hand clapping makes a sound
in the land where flying geese
move forward in the same place
and the winds of time
fluxing and refluxing at a constant rate
strum a strange kind of differential analysis,
where consequence is inconsequence
and blind logic, drowned in the spirit bottle,
lets loose the joyful goose
In the upside down dance
the world is still
moving in a flash of lightning's speed
and the silent watcher
heeding the spectral junk on darkening waters
climbs downwards for his tea.