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.