The Blossom vanishes of itself
The Blossom vanishes of itself
As the fruit grows.
So will your lower self vanish
As the Divine grows within you.
The music finishes.
It is the quiet of night
Broken by the ticking of a clock,
the hiss of rain,
the growling of a distant car.
The silence of this interval
is not for doing,
not for resting
But to wonder in;
A vulnerable silence
given back to us.