Fold your wings, my soul,
those wings you had spread wide to soar
to the terrestrial peaks where light is
most ardent: it is for you to simply waith
the descent of the Fire —
supposing it to be willing to take possession of you.
Listen
Now is the earth most still.
No plows break the bare and frozen ground.
No creature stirs from its earthbound
burrow, tunnel, nest.
Matter is quiet.
Its clamor
hushed, we hear the rising of the star,
the morning light,
the seed within itself unfolding,
glowing, growing.
All is quiet and the earth most still.