What is asked
of me? Echo of echo
of voice lingers just
beyond edge of
consciousness; whispering
envoy of the ultimate,
with inexorable patience
awaits my attention.
Signposts glimpsed in
dreaming, inscribed in
glimmers of intuition;
harmonics embedded deep
beneath the chaos mark
way of departure.
What calls me I
cannot grasp, cannot
comprehend, cannot
identify, classify,
dissect or reduce to be
contained within any
words spoken by mortal
tongues; I can only respond,
overwhelmed by touch
of hand that compels
and liberates, quenches
and ignites; by
voice that weaves
kaleidoscopic visions
to summon the
unimagined into
being.