After midnight when the still streets

drip from the trees audibly soft leaves

and I smile to hear sleepy voices

silenced by a closing window's sound

I take a match to an incense stick

and set bright the candle in my private shrine.


With six slow breaths the pillared flame

sets this brooding throne aglow

where pivoted upon some silent thought

the golden face spans inwardly

the space between the symbol and the seen.


Coming close with eyes as camera

trace the perfections of a latent shot,

memory projected on a future screen

moment immortalised perhaps or trapped,

perceive half hidden under downcast lids

the open eyes fixed yet flexible upon some still point

filling the quietened room,

the grateful heart, with the peculiar quality

of the street -

space between windows

treading softly between couchant forms.