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.